


All in the Family

by HardNoctLife



Series: The Love Between (the Four of) Us [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Marriage, Married Life, Multi, OT4, Politics, Polyamory, Polyship Roadtrip, Sexuality, Surrogacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardNoctLife/pseuds/HardNoctLife
Summary: Married life is hard.It's really hard when you have three husbands instead of one, the laws are working against your favor instead of for it, the media wants to know the ins-and-outs of how you juggle four lovers ('who's the woman in the relationship?' UGH), and your family wishes you would just give them a grandchild or two ('dad, newsflash, I'm gay').No one said it would be easy—only that it would be worth it.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Series: The Love Between (the Four of) Us [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1423348
Comments: 168
Kudos: 198





	1. Trust is a Two-Way Street

**Author's Note:**

> This fic can stand alone, so feel free to read it out of order, although it is technically the third in the series.

Prompto isn’t sure why he can’t sleep.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it’s storming outside, the booms of thunder rattling the bedroom windows, wind howling like a necromancer on the prowl. Or maybe because he doesn’t have a body pressed to either side of him like he’s used to, two of his three husbands called away to the Citadel for the weekend while he and Gladio are stuck in the house waiting.

 _Maybe_ it’s because he went to bed hungry. Not intentionally, of course, but he tends to forget the most basic of bodily functions when he is worried—eating, brushing his teeth, showering. Usually, Ignis is the one to remind him when he forgets one or all of these things, but Ignis isn’t home.

It’s just him and Gladio. Not that there’s anything _wrong_ with that. He likes Gladio—obviously.

Except that Gladio isn’t in bed when he wakes from his fitful half-dozing, and Prompto knows better than to panic, but fear seizes him all the same as he throws the covers back.

_Did someone break-in while I was asleep?_

_Did Gladio leave?_

_Was he murdered?_

_Why would they murder him and not me?_

_Well, I’m obviously not a threat, so—_

“Big guy? ...Gladio?” he calls out.

Silence.

He’s on his feet in an instant, and he jogs out of the master bedroom they share into the empty hallway, not bothering to pull sweatpants over his chocobo-print boxers. Seeing a faint glow coming from downstairs, he follows it, feet thudding on the steps until he whirls around the corner and into the newly renovated kitchen to find—

Prompto stutters to a stop, gasping out a laugh as he catches a naked Gladio gulping milk straight from the carton, silhouetted by the light pouring from the refrigerator. The Shield’s eyes widen in surprise from the sudden interruption to his late-night activity, and he wipes his mouth with the back of one hand before setting the carton aside.

“You good?” he asks with a frown as if _Prompto_ is the one who doesn’t belong there.

Unable to help himself, Prompto devolves into giggles, hands on his knees. “You’re an absolute behemoth, you know that? Ignis is going to _kill_ you.”

“Not if he doesn’t find out.”

Gladio saunters over to Prompto, arms wrapping around the blond with a smirk, and the following kiss swallows any reasoning or protests he might have had.

_Just because we’re all married to each other doesn’t mean that it isn’t gross!_

“What’s wrong?” Gladio’s pointed question goes straight for the jugular, and when Prompto ducks his head, a hand tilts his chin up so he can’t look away. “No running, remember? We agreed.”

_Yeah, easier said than done._

Prompto is used to being the peacemaker. The one who doesn’t ruffle feathers or voice his own opinion, just ‘steady as she goes’, but Gladio can see straight through his mask—and regularly tears it off.

“I’m worried about ‘em, y’know?”

Prompto mutters the confession as he sets his chin in the middle of Gladio’s bare chest, heart fluttering when the Shield plants a kiss on his forehead, and strong hands run up and down his freckled-back soothingly.

“Yeah, me too. But they’ll be home in the morning,” Gladio reminds him.

 _But what if they bring bad news back with them?_ Prompto thinks.

Gladio shakes him gently as the silence stretches long as if he can hear his anxious thoughts. “Hey. It’s going to be fine.”

“How can you be so sure?” Prompto groans. “I feel like a nervous cactuar—one thousand needles, incoming!”

The comparison earns him a snort of amusement. “Well. If you need something to stick your needle into…”

An eyebrow wiggle gets Prompto laughing again, which was his goal, and the blond smacks a hand against one of Gladio’s hardened biceps teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Grinning now, Gladio picks Prompto up in one easy movement, letting the man’s legs wrap around his waist. “C’mon, blondie. I’ll be your pincushion.”

The Shield carries him the rest of the way up the stairs, their laughs echoing throughout the mostly empty house as the thunder rolls in the distance.

* * *

Prompto is awake as soon as the key turns in the lock, and he fights to peel back Gladio’s heavy limbs from where they have tangled around him.

“Nngh,” comes the growl from Gladio, which Prompto ignores as he vaults out of bed.

There’s the murmur of low voices, a creak of hinges.

The sunlight brightening the house tells Prompto it’s midmorning, and he feels his hair sticking up, but there are only two things he cares about right now, and that’s not one of them.

“Noct! Iggy!” he exclaims as he rushes into the living room.

Tired smiles greet him, both Noctis and Ignis wearing their work clothes despite it being a Sunday morning. The fabric is wrinkled as if they might have slept in them, and there are bags under their eyes.

None of them sleep well when they’re apart.

“My darling,” Ignis murmurs when Prompto embraces him tightly. Fingers comb through Prompto’s golden hair, setting it back into place before Noctis joins in the group hug, nuzzling against Prompto’s neck.

“Hey,” the prince says, lips finding Prompto’s.

“Mm—heyaz.”

“G’morning.” The grunt from behind them has all of them turning to find Gladio at the bottom of the stairs, blanket held low around his hips.

“What a lovely welcoming committee,” Ignis comments with a wry smile.

Prompto takes the liberty of speaking for the two of them. “We missed you guys.”

The look that Ignis and Noctis exchange has Prompto’s heart jumping into his throat, while simultaneously invoking a sinking feeling in his gut.

“We missed you too,” Noctis answers, but it’s spoken carefully, making it clear that he’s holding something back.

Gladio asks the question that Prompto isn’t brave enough to. “What’s wrong?”

When the prince looks to his advisor a second time, Ignis sighs. “…perhaps we should sit down.”

“Oh god—did someone _die_? That’s always what they say in the movies when someone dies!” Prompto says, shrinking away from Ignis and Noctis as if to escape whatever they’re about to tell him, nervous energy rolling off him in waves.

“Nothing quite so dire—”

“Dad is sick,” Noctis interrupts Ignis abruptly.

Three heads whip towards him in unison. It would have been almost funny if Noctis’s face wasn’t so serious. The prince blows out a long breath, running a hand through his own hair idly.

“There’s no reason to be super worried, but he did say we needed to prepare. Just in case.”

“Just in case he _dies_ , you mean?” Prompto demands, voice rising an octave in alarm. He dances back to Gladio’s side, grabbing the man by the elbow and shaking insistently although there’s nothing he can do to help.

“It is completely normal for a monarch to ensure all of his boxes are checked, so to speak, in the event of serious illness,” Ignis says firmly.

“ _Serious?_ So you admit it’s serious?” Prompto is gaping, face pale.

The conversation is going downhill fast, and even Gladio is starting to look grim, eyebrows furrowing, and jaw set.

“…what did you guys talk about then?” Gladio wonders, tucking Prompto against his side in an attempt to comfort him.

It doesn’t. Prompto squirms in place, grabby hands finding Gladio’s hip points and clinging to them.

“His Majesty wanted us to address a couple of concerns he has, primarily concerning…” Ignis pauses, lips pursing as he tries to find the right word. Three pairs of eyes are glued to his face, attempting to see through his neutral expression. Noctis looks the least mortified, mostly because he knows what is coming.

“Concerning _what_?” Prompto prods. He gets an elbow in the ribs from Gladio (“Hey, that hurt!” “Quiet, blondie.”).

“Well.” Ignis’s sigh is heavier this time, resigned. “Concerning us.”

“Us?” Gladio somehow stretches the one-syllable word, tone dropping dangerously. He releases Prompto to tie the blanket around him only to cross his arms over his chest.

“Whaddaya mean?” Prompto is bouncing, eyes darting between Noctis and Ignis, desperate for an explanation.

“As you are well aware, the marriage law has not yet been revised to include polyamory, making our union null within the borders of Insomnia—” As Ignis starts in on his monologue, Noctis’s head drops so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with any of them. His heart hurts, and the stunned looks on Gladio and Prompto’s faces aren’t helping the pain wedging itself between his ribs. “—which creates the question of how Noctis will procure a future legitimate heir. His Majesty merely wishes to ensure that—”

“They’re not going to breed Noct like a fucking animal,” Gladio growls, temper flaring hot.

Prompto moves safely out of the line of fire, angling himself so he can see his other three husbands clearly as he starts to chew on his nails.

“Let me finish, Gladiolus,” Ignis insists.

He may be speaking calmly, but Noctis notes how the advisor’s stance widens. It’s the same stance he adopts when he’s about to attack, and the prince warily steps between the two. Noctis doesn’t think they would resort to violence, but he can’t be one hundred percent sure with emotions running higher than usual.

The prince, gaze steady, addresses them in turn. “Gladio. Prompto, _really_. It’s going to be fine. Dad says he supports us, but he’s worried about what will happen if something _does_ go down. He wants us to be ready.”

The two still remain skeptical.

Clearing his throat, Ignis adds, “King Regis suggested we begin conducting a PR campaign regarding our relationship. More positive media representation may help us get the law passed sooner rather than later.”

“Wait, so. Like, posting pictures online and stuff? I can _totally_ do that. I have a bunch I can post to my Insomniagram.” Prompto’s offer elicits mixed reactions, Noctis groaning while Ignis smiles and laughs. Leaning against the banister, the prince’s Shield is stoic, face betraying nothing.

“Certainly, among other things. Interviews with the press, for example. Or charity galas together. Essentially, putting ourselves in the public eye.”

Gladio has been silent up until this point, arms still crossed defensively in front of him as he scoffs. “So, we went from having to be kept a dirty little secret to putting ourselves out there for everyone to gawk at? I’m calling bullshit. What’s the catch, Iggy?”

“Gladio, come on, dude, don’t be that way,” Prompto pleads. The Shield’s reaction is strong and immediate.

“Two seconds ago, you were freaking out too, so _can_ it.”

Noctis growls when he sees Prompto’s lip quiver, jumping to his defense. “ _Gladio_ , shut up and listen for one second!”

“If I may, allow me to answer the question, Noct,” Ignis says quietly, eyes falling on Gladio as he places one hand firmly on Noctis’s forearm.

The simple touch acts as an anchor, pulling the anger from the prince and capsizing the tension in the room.

Everyone waits, no one daring to breathe as Ignis adjusts his glasses idly.

“If we can make arrangements for Noct to procure a legitimate heir, His Majesty will help us in any way that he can to pass the marriage law in Insomnia as quickly as possible, and publicly declare his support—”

“ _Fuck_ no,” Gladio hisses, every muscle in his body tightening.

Prompto covers his mouth, but the horror and disbelief reflected in his eyes are plain for all to see.

When Noctis puts his hands out in front of him, it makes him look like he’s attempting to approach a wild animal.

Same difference, really.

“Gladio, it’s okay—”

“It’s _not_ fucking okay!” he booms, Noctis’s attempt at placating him only making the Shield even more furious. “How the hell are you both so calm about this? This involves _all_ of us, not just you!”

Any chance of making peace between the four of them is lost as Gladio turns to stomp back up the stairs, and Prompto appears torn between following or staying behind.

“Noct, buddy, please tell me this isn’t what it sounds like?” he asks weakly.

Not responding is a reply all its own though, and after an awkward silence where no one makes eye contact, Prompto inhales and exhales loudly.

“Right. Got it.”

Prompto’s footsteps aren’t as heavy as Gladio’s, yet they have a sound of finality to them that the Shield’s didn’t.

Once they are alone, Ignis looks at Noctis. The sympathy in his eyes hurt more than Gladio and Prompto’s reactions combined.

“They’ll—”

“Don’t tell me they’ll get over it,” the prince interjects, voice tight. He opens his hands that were unintentionally balled into fists, eyeing the nail imprints in his palms. “Because they won’t.”

“Alright,” Ignis agrees readily. He takes Noctis’s hands in his instead, thumbing over them gently. “We _will_ get through this though.”

It’s a promise that Noctis isn’t sure his advisor can keep, but he chooses to believe him.

It’s the only choice he has.

* * *

“Are you still mad at me?”

Gladio flips the page of his book, very pointedly not looking at Noctis standing in the doorway. He’s lying in bed— _his_ bed—which he hasn’t slept in since before they all got married.

It feels too small for him now, even if it’s king-sized, but it’s probably because the one in their master bedroom is bigger, custom made to fit all four of them.

They’d debated turning the space into an office for Ignis, or a dedicated exercise room, but ultimately, they kept it as a guest room of sorts.

Not that anyone else stayed with them, but the important thing was that people _could_ —if they wanted.

Or someone could stay away from everyone else like Gladio had chosen to do now.

“I knew you’d be mad. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

Another page turns, this time with an audible thwip.

“I just wanted time to think it through before I made a decision. It wasn’t easy, alright? But if you had blown up on my dad like you did at me, he probably wouldn’t have agreed to any of it.”

 _Thwip_.

“C’mon. Put the book down and talk to me. I know you’re not reading it,” Noctis begged, trying not to show his frustration.

_Thwip._

“Please?”

Finally, Gladio puts the open book in his lap, giving Noctis a perfect view of the middle finger he is holding up. He finally managed to put on a t-shirt and sweatpants, something Noctis interprets as a passive-aggressive choice. Or in the case of someone who has no issue parading around the house naked, just plain aggressive.

Then he sees that the print on the Shield’s shirt reads “Suck My” with a cockatrice beneath it, and it removes any remaining doubt.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis sighs.

“Are you?” Gladio’s arched eyebrow completes the accusation.

“I just wish you’d trust me more.”

“Trust is a two-way street, you know.” But Gladio sits up, patting the space beside him, and Noctis is quick to join him. “How long have we been married now?” It’s spoken more gently than the prince was expecting, but he decides to give Gladio the benefit of the doubt.

“Uh…” Noctis slumps against the Shield’s shoulder, more comfortable now that he’s out of his suit and in lounging clothes of his own. He squints up at the ceiling. “Six months…or so?”

There’s a chuckle from Gladio that makes him fear he got it wrong.

“Maybe sound a little more confident if Ignis asks you so he doesn’t skin you with one of his daggers, but yeah. Six months. It doesn’t seem like much, but we’ve also known each other our whole lives. Maybe it’s time you start acting like it, yeah?”

When Gladio finally snakes his hand around to Noctis’s opposite hip, the relief the prince feels is so immense that his whole body seems to sigh, sinking even deeper into his husband’s side.

“Yeah, okay. I’m sorry.”

The same hand on his hip grips a little tighter.

“Hmph. Not yet.”

Noctis is blinking up at Gladio when his Shield catches him off guard, mouths smacking together awkwardly until he realizes what is happening.

The kiss is fierce, and hungry, frustration and passion intermingling in a tangible combination.

“You’re a brat,” Gladio huffs, teeth catching the edge of Noctis’s lip as he presses the prince onto his back.

“Yeah, well, you’re wearing clothes,” Noctis grumbles as fingers hook in his sweatpants and yank them down to his knees. His already erect cock twitches in the cool air, and his partner eyes it appreciatively.

The prince bucks his hip impatiently, and a hearty laugh from Gladio vibrates against his throat, sending chills racing down his spine. The Shield uses his teeth again, this time on the sensitive skin along Noctis’s neck, and he swats at Gladio before moaning, a large hand palming in-between his legs. He revels in the way Noctis’s hard-on jumps to attention beneath his fingers, using one leg to pin the writhing man in place.

“Sorry, princess. I’m taking charge on this one.”

There’s no talking after that. They know that their bodies will do it for them.

_Apology accepted._


	2. Learning to Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phase one of the plan to improve Noctis & Husbands media presence is a go!
> 
> Too bad a certain someone is on track to sabotage the mission.

Noctis adjusts the mic attached to his suit jacket for what feels like the millionth time. It’s done purely out of nervousness, but he can’t help himself.

In response to Noctis’s fidgeting, Ignis squeezes the prince’s knee from where he sits beside him on the long couch in the Citadel gallery, seemingly unbothered by the bright spotlights beaming down on them from either direction. Out of the four men assembled, the advisor is most used to speaking in front of people. After all, it was what he was trained to do.

It’s their first public appearance since coming to a truce about the whole ‘producing an heir’ thing—a truce painstakingly agreed on between bedsheets and late nights that turned into early mornings.

They’re all dressed to the nines: slacks, jackets, and dress shirts, with matching blue-green accents in their ties and pocket squares to present a unified front, even if they all expressed differing opinions on what they thought about being on national television to take their private life public. They could be on a fashion magazine cover, and only Ignis seems like he's in his natural habit, but everyone else swallows their pride.

Because none of them can afford to mess this up.

It seems ironic that they would be sitting directly in front of a somber portrait of King Regis and his late wife, Queen Aulea, just for the occasion.

Gladio, one bookend of the seating arrangement, scoots forward to stare at Prompto, who is on the opposite side of Noctis, leg bouncing distractedly as he looks anywhere but at the camera.

“Hey,” the Shield says as he points to his own leg, which is perfectly still.

Prompto takes the hint and squeezes his knees together to keep them from twitching, hands coming to rest in his lap. He has sweat beading along his hairline, clearly the most nervous out of all of them, and part of him wishes he could hold one of his husband’s hands, but doesn’t know if that would be encouraged or frowned upon.

“Just smile and be yourself,” Ignis had instructed him beforehand; easier said than done when his normal self was an anxious mess. And to Gladio, the advisor had said: “Gladiolus, be on your best behavior please.”

 _Fat chance_. _They’re getting what they get_ , the Shield had thought.

“Alright, I think we’re all set,” the man behind the camera announces to the woman beside him.

Veronica Platt, the journalist for _Insomnia Now_ , is dressed in a gray pencil skirt and matching jacket combo, blond hair perfectly primped and curled for the exclusive television interview of Prince Noctis and his ‘husband retainers’ as some news outlets were calling them.

_Just one stop short of being a reverse harem. How fun._

Her cherry red lipstick provides a focal point for the men as she steps to one side of the couch, perching herself in a high-backed chair that is angled towards them. She tosses her head to sweep her long hair behind her, smiling exuberantly in Noctis’s direction.

They figure she's used to this. Not a single drop of sweat can be seen on her, but that could just be the makeup.

“As we have discussed, Your Highness, I will be asking you all a series of questions. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves, and also to skip over any you would prefer not to answer. If needed, we can edit the footage later, but please try to avoid any cursing. Let’s keep it PG, alright?”

Her voice is sickly sweet, almost condescending—Gladio hates it—but Prompto is nodding enthusiastically, and Ignis crosses one leg over the other, reclining even as the prince sits at attention.

“Got it,” the prince confirms, clearing his throat for good measure.

“Alright, Dan? Will you cue us in?” she requests of the cameraman.

Dan-I-can-wear-my-hat-backwards-because-I’m-not-on-TV holds up an open hand, tucking fingers away as he counts down. “In five…four…three…two…” The last number is silent, and he finishes by pointing at the reporter, her easy smile returning as a red light illuminates on the top of the camera.

Lights! Camera! _Action_!

“Hello everyone, this is Veronica Platt from Insomnia Now, and I have the incredible honor of interviewing His Royal Highness, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, and his not one, not two, but _three_ , gorgeous husbands. Gentlemen, would you introduce yourselves and tell us your occupation?”

Her eyes, a searing blue, fall on Prompto, causing him to sit ramrod straight and pull his shoulders back like a kid who just got called on by a teacher.

“Oh—me first? Um, hi! I’m Prompto Argentum, and, um, I’m in the Crownsguard.”

They skip over Noctis without needing to say so, his intro already made, Ignis graciously picking up the slack without pausing.

“My name is Ignis Scientia, and I am the advisor to the prince, and also a member of the Crownsguard.”

He then gestures towards Gladio, the last to speak.

“Gladio Amicitia. Shield to the prince and member of the Crownsguard.”

Veronica’s smile never wavers, made-for-television enthusiasm oozing from every word as she leans forward.

“Wow, so is it safe to assume that you all met Prince Noctis through the Crownsguard?”

The four exchange looks, unsure of who is expected to answer, and Prompto decides to bite the bullet and take the first shot at the question.

“Actually, I met Noct—um, His Highness—in middle school, and we became friends in high school.”

 _Should I call him Noct? I mean, we_ are _married, but…_ Noctis puts an arm around him in solidarity, and Veronica beams, pleased.

“Aw, can I just say, you two are _adorable_. So, you were high school sweethearts?”

Bolstered by the wink Noctis sends in his direction, Prompto forces himself to take a deep breath.

“Well, not exactly.” He laughs lightly as Noctis smiles. “We were just friends initially, and um, the other stuff came later, but we weren’t really _together_ until after high school.”

“Ooh, I see! And what about you, Ignis?” Veronica turns in the advisor’s direction.

She seems to be lapping up every word, like an overly excited puppy. Some of them are taking more kindly to it than others, Prompto, for example, maintains his sunny disposition, while Gladio fights to keep from rolling his eyes.

“I was appointed as Noctis’s advisor from a very young age, so we grew up together. We’ve been close since childhood.”

“Ahh,” Veronica makes a sound like she understands, and Gladio hates her even more.

 _She doesn't understand shit_.

Ignis glances over at the Shield then, indicating he should chime in. Gladio’s initial response is to ‘man spread’ his legs and arms wide, scooching down on the couch.

They say that the nature of animals is to ‘get big’ when threatened by a predator.

“My job when we were growing up was to train Noct in combat. As his Shield, we spent a lot of time around each other, but it wasn’t always fun and games. And we still butt heads a lot.”

Noctis’s eyes flit briefly in Gladio’s direction, licking his lips nervously before refocusing on the journalist.

“Wow, that sounds intense. Alright, I _have_ to know. How did you all get together?” Her prim and proper persona doesn’t change despite the fact she sits back a little, manicured hands settling over one knee as she crosses a leg over the other.

Gladio hopes this means she'll back off a little, and he doesn’t take his eyes off her as Prompto and Noctis look to Ignis imploringly for help.

“That is…a rather long story, one that we may not have enough time to tell in this interview.” Diplomatic, straightforward—it’s very Ignis _._ “To put it simply, we realized that we all had developed feelings for each other at one point or another and decided we simply couldn’t pick one person to be with. Polyamory was the only logical choice for us.”

There’s a flicker of something in Veronica’s eye at that, but it’s gone too fast for any of them to interpret it as either good or bad.

“You say ‘only logical choice,’ but, like…it seems that it would be difficult to balance _four_ people in one relationship. I struggle enough with just having one boyfriend.” She laughs, high pitched and airy, and Gladio cringes. “So, what problems do you run into in this kind of relationship?”

They’re entering dangerous waters now, and there’s a longer pause as they weigh their answers against the silence.

It feels almost like a potential employer asking, ‘what’s your biggest weakness?’ You want to be honest, but you also don’t want to blow your chance of being hired.

There’s no going back if you reveal too much.

“Well…um, scheduling can be hard, you know? Like, finding time for all four of us. But I think we do a good job of making sure no one is left out,” Noctis says slowly.

Relieved to not have to answer first this time, Prompto jumps in as backup. “Oh yeah, for sure. Like, nobody is ever alone, so that’s nice. I think for me, it’s just dealing with everybody’s emotions because that’s a lot of people to coordinate, but it also means you always got somebody to talk to, and that’s pretty sweet.”

The reporter sighs dreamily, long eyelashes fluttering. “That certainly _does_ sound nice.”

“Oh! _And_ , figuring out what we want for dinner is a pain. Usually Iggy just has to decide for everyone, so nobody fights.” Prompto’s relatable comment has them all laughing warmly.

“Ah, yes, the classic ‘what are we eating tonight’ debate!” Veronica smiles and nods.

The topic feels more approachable now that they’ve broken the ice, and there's some hope that maybe they will escape the interview unscathed when Ignis finally comments.

“The biggest issue I see is communication. We all have very different communication styles, so working through issues can sometimes take longer, but in those instances, trust prevails.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet to hear.” An envious sigh from the woman prompts Gladio to answer.

“I’d say…jealousy can be an issue. Not like a, ‘oh, he’s cheating on me or not giving me attention’ kind of jealousy, but just a, ‘I feel like I’m missing out.’ Like, if Prompto and Ignis go on a date without us, just as an example.” The Shield shrugs, everyone nodding in sympathy.

The mention of jealousy has Veronica’s eyebrows raising, and she shifts slightly, voice losing some of its lightheartedness.

“And does that happen a lot? Separate dates, I mean? Especially since you were mentioning how difficult it can be to coordinate around your schedules.”

“Yeah, for sure. But like Ignis said, um, we just talk it out and communicate. We’re always talking to each other somehow. We have a big text thread that we go back and forth in all day,” the prince explains.

“Which can be distracting during work hours,” Ignis says with a chuckle.

Veronica is beaming again, and Gladio can’t help but wonder if she has experience as an actress.

_Is everyone really buying this charade? I mean, how fake can you be?_

“I bet! So, remind our viewers again when and where you four got married. It was recently, wasn’t it?”

Everyone and their mother knew when the four were married. It had made the front page of the Lucian Times when the news had broken, and the Crown had to run damage control for a couple of weeks as the paparazzi circled like sharks in the water, but Noctis humors Veronica for the sake of the interview.

“Yeah, six months ago when we went to Galahd on vacation. The guys surprised me with the ceremony—since it was one of the few places in Eos that allowed it.”

Ignis, always with the end goal in mind, slips in smoothly: “Something we hope to change soon, as the marriage laws in Lucis are currently being debated.”

The mention of the marriage law has Gladio drumming his fingers on the edge of the couch as he frowns, sliding further down into the cushions and wishing he could be anywhere but in front of a television camera.

Veronica either doesn’t notice or doesn’t seem to care about Gladio’s apparent irritation. “That’s incredibly romantic, and we’re wishing you all the best. Okay, now, not to be crude, but _logistically_ speaking, who sleeps with who?”

 _There it is_ , Gladio thinks. The bombshell.

Even Ignis’s usually perfect composure slips a little as they all balk, everyone shifting uncomfortably and looking left to right, save for Gladio, who zeroes in on Veronica with the intensity of an experienced hunter.

Noctis rubs the back of his neck, pink coloring his cheeks, all the more obvious beneath the glow from the spotlights. “Uh, well…”

Intent on doing damage control, Ignis interrupts before the prince can get too far. “I think we’d rather not discuss—"

“We all sleep together,” Gladio interrupts. The other three go still, like animals about to bolt, before he goes in for the kill. “We had a bed custom made so we’re not on top of each other—unless we want to be.” He throws in a suggestive smirk, body language languid as he ignores the warning glare that Ignis shoots at him.

Veronica giggles with glee, like someone who just heard some delicious gossip, and makes a show of fanning herself. Gladio now has her full attention.

“Oh my, you don’t say! Any juicy details you can give us? While keeping it PG-13, of course?”

There’s a gleam in her eyes that is definitely _not_ friendly, but Gladio is better at fighting than not, and he isn’t about to back down from a challenge.

_So much for keeping it 'PG', huh?_

“PG-13? Hm, not much, then,” he drawls. “Prompto is definitely the biggest cuddler of the group. He gets cold easily. Ignis? Well, let’s just say he enjoys giving up control if you know what I mean, and Noctis may be a prince in the streets, but he’s a princess in the sheets.”

There's uneasy laughter that echoes around him before Prompto hides his face in his hands. Noctis continues to stare blankly ahead.

“I think that’s quite enough, Gladiolus,” Ignis says, smile forced. He grips Gladio tightly at the hip where the camera can't see.

Waving dismissively, Veronica feigns shock. “Oh, I was only kidding! Of course, we would _never_ pry. We want to respect your privacy, although I am sure everyone is curious how it works romantically, myself included.”

Smug, Gladio claps his hands behind his head, staring back at Veronica without blinking.

The tension pulls tight between them, the room transforming into a sauna as the air thickens with it. Veronica’s smile slides, only for a moment, but it’s enough.

 _Gotcha,_ Gladio thinks.

“Well honey, I’m an open book. Shame we gotta keep it PG-13, but I can always give you the dirty details later if you’re interested.” He picks a piece of lint off his shirt and flicks it away as the rest of his husbands avoid looking at him.

He's crossed a line, but there's no going back now.

Ignis coughs loudly, a not-so-subtle warning, and time begins to flow normally again when the reporter breaks eye contact with the prince's Shield.

“Wow! Anyone else feel like it’s hot in here, or is it just me?” Veronica’s laugh is even more grating than before. “I think this is the perfect time for a commercial break. When we come back, we’ll be asking questions submitted by our viewers, so don’t touch that dial!”

There’s a thumbs up from Dan the cameraman and he lifts his head as a stony silence falls over the gallery.

Veronica stands quickly. “That was perfect, you’re doing great, gentlemen! Does anyone need anything during the break? I’m just going to run to the bathroom.”

“No, thank you Veronica,” Ignis murmurs politely.

Everyone holds their collective breath as the two walk out, disappearing through a stone archway and down the hall.

Once alone, Ignis drops the niceties as he whirls on Gladio.

“Excuse me, but what the _fuck_ was that?” His accent is more pronounced in his cold rage, and Prompto, head still in his hands, groans miserably.

“What the fuck was what?” Gladio questions with an innocence that is unbecoming, as no one is fooled by it.

“Don’t you fucking dare play that game. Are you trying to mess this up on purpose?” Noctis demands, wriggling around Ignis to get a good look at Gladio.

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ in the word, making the rest of them grit their teeth. “I’m just being me. Or is that too much for you guys?”

Ignis stands suddenly, throwing his arms wide. “You are _absolutely_ incorrigible. For _one_ moment, put your feelings aside and behave like a decent human being.”

“Decent human being?” Gladio snarls, voice raising. “Oh, you mean like _you_ two? The ones who forced us into this?”

“Damnit, Gladio! I thought we talked about this.” The prince is kicking himself for not knowing better. Gladio is an Amicitia, after all. War is in his blood.

Stiffening, Gladio glares up at Ignis and then to Noctis. “I agreed to _talk_ about our relationship. Never said I’d censor any of it.”

The advisor curses under his breath. “If you can’t be diplomatic, then perhaps it is better if you weren’t here at all.”

It’s like adding fuel to a wildfire. Gladio’s on his feet now too, squaring up to Ignis like he might throw a punch, and Noctis is inclined to let him just to see what happens.

“Oh, _really_? How are you going to have an interview about the four of us without me here, huh? Just going to put words in my mouth? Go on, Ignis, use that sweet tongue of yours—”

Noctis snorts incredulously, and Prompto finally looks up from where his head is hanging, snapping out of his haze. “ _Gladio_ , stop it! _Dude_ , please! Let’s fight about this later, alright? We just need to get through this.”

It’s the same feeling of an aftershock after an explosion. They wait for the dust to settle, breaths jagged.

“Prompto’s right,” Noctis quietly agrees.

He looks from one man to the next, noting the downturned mouths and pained expressions on each of their faces.

_Our relationship isn’t going to survive this if we don’t get it together._

After some deliberation, Gladio sits back down, and the heat around them dissipates to a low-grade burn. “Tch. _Fine_. But if we’re going to do more of this, I’m not going to lie just to make people comfortable. We shouldn’t have to edit ourselves just so other people feel better about themselves.”

Looking first to Noctis, Ignis sits down also, elbows resting on his thighs as he studies the space between his feet, lost in thought.

“I’m not saying you’re entirely wrong about that, but we also need to be mindful of our position. We cannot afford to have the media turn against us in this situation. It’s the difference between dipping one’s toes in the shallow end of a pool versus jumping into the middle of the ocean with no life raft.”

It’s a poignant metaphor, spoken like a true advisor.

Exhaling noisily, Prompto lays across Noctis and Ignis’s legs, head plopping into Gladio’s lap. He throws an arm across his face. “Ugh. I hate this. Can we go somewhere fun when we’re done?”

Ruffling the blond’s hair fondly, Gladio grunts. “…yeah. Let’s do that.”

His anger may be strong, but it's also quick. The rest of it fizzles out, and everyone breathes a little easier, settling into the same uneasy truce they had when the interview started. Ignis traces constellations in the freckles on Prompto's skin, head settling against Gladio's gently. To his credit, Gladio doesn’t shy away from the contact.

“Where’s somewhere fun we can go?” Gladio prods, fingers now roaming aimlessly through Prompto’s hair and sending it in every direction.

“Mm. The arcade?” the blond mutters, nearly asleep.

“I’m down,” Noctis pipes up. He’s been meaning to try and beat his high score on Justice Monsters Five for a while now.

Ignis’s nose wrinkles at the thought, shooting the suggestion down. “Absolutely not.”

“Training hall?” Gladio offers as a Plan B.

There’s a collective groan from Noctis and Prompto. There's no way in Ifrit's hellfire that they're going to willingly do physical activity for fun. Well not _that_ kind of physical activity.

But part of being married is learning to compromise.

“Only if it involves the shooting range. I need to blow some heads off after all of this.” When Prompto pulls his arm away, Gladio is grinning down at him.

Seeing the look, Ignis scoffs, lifting a finger admonishingly against what he knows is coming. “Gladiolus, do _not—”_

“I’ve got a head you can blow, blondie.”

“—make that joke.” The others snicker, ducking to avoid Ignis’s glare of indignant disapproval. “What are you, _five_?” His exasperation only ensures that Gladio's grin grows wider.

“You can _come_ too, Ignis.” He wriggles his hand behind the advisor's back to better squeeze his ass as Prompto and Noctis cackle. Ignis delivers a swift punch to the Shield’s chest that has him sputtering, but it’s worth it.

When he sees the corner of Ignis’s mouth twitch up, Gladio knows that he has won, and he is bold enough to steal a kiss as Veronica re-enters the room with Dan on her heels.

Pushing himself up, Prompto resumes his place on the other end of the couch, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, and the four men squish together, arms and legs rubbing.

“Thanks for waiting, gentlemen. Ready for round two?” she asks with her doll-like smile.

Noctis nods. “Sure thing.”

This time, they are.


	3. A United Front

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio will need some convincing before he gets on board with Ignis and Noctis's master plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating a day early! Happy early weekend y'all

“How are you?”

It seems like a loaded question, and Gladio chooses not to answer it immediately. He can feel Ignis’s eyes on him in much the same way he feels the advisor’s hand on his wrist, delicate fingers thrumming over his jumping pulse.

The shooting range is mostly empty at this time in the afternoon.

Gladio watches Prompto nail his tenth bullseye in a row with his rifle. Noctis, in the booth next to him, shoots his target on the outer ring and curses.

They’re both focused, blowing off steam, but it’s never been Gladio’s style to strike from a distance. He likes the physicality that comes from hand-to-hand combat. The clashing of metal, the absorbing of blows. Even the pain of taking a hit.

Pain is easier to process than whatever it is he’s feeling right now.

“I’m fine,” he finally says, not pushing Ignis away, but not welcoming his touch either. He still doesn’t make eye contact.

“Gladiolus.” His name is spoken like a prayer. Even he can’t ignore it.

Hesitant, he meets Ignis’s gaze. “…yeah?”

“Talk to me,” Ignis pleads. His eye-color is the embodiment of spring, and it invokes memories of when they were younger and more carefree.

He knows that the advisor specializes in conflict resolution. Ignis had always been the voice of reason, even when they were children. Ignis was the one to tell Noctis to study for a big test instead of going to the arcade. The one to convince Prompto that he was capable of more than he realized when he didn’t believe in himself. And he was the one to keep Gladio from saying things he regretted when he got mad, bandaging him up when he did, inevitably, do something stupid. Like that one time that he punched a locker in high school, or the other time, when he got into a bar fight, although the latter was to protect Noctis, so it wasn’t _completely_ stupid (in Gladio’s opinion).

“Absolutely idiotic,” Ignis had complained while treating his wounds. Gladio had hissed from the sting of the alcohol-soaked gauze on his facial laceration, and Ignis had silenced him with a kiss. In some ways, Gladio preferred that treatment to this.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Gladio grunts, returning his attention to Prompto and Noctis, who are now engaging in some sort of competition that involves shooting with their non-dominant hands.

Ignis pulls back, creating space, and doesn’t say anything else.

* * *

That night, Gladio disappears into his old room at bedtime and closes the door, locking it behind him.

* * *

“Iggy?”

Ignis looks away from his laptop to where Prompto is standing at the bottom of the stairs. The man swears that he’s read and re-read the same report about ten times now, yet he is no closer to understanding it than he was two hours ago.

“Are you coming to bed?” Prompto wonders, sounding optimistic. He has a chocobo plushie hugged to his chest, a birthday present from their high school days.

The advisor remembers that it was Gladio who gifted it to him.

“In a bit,” Ignis deflects.

 _Probably not_ , is what he really means.

“Okay.”

No judgement, only hope. That’s Prompto for you.

Prompto disappears up the stairs as Ignis removes his glasses and throws his head back on the couch, sighing with resignation.

* * *

“ _Dude_ , that’s perfect.” Prompto is grinning as Noctis selects the picture from his phone’s photo gallery. “Now we just gotta think of a caption…” He swallows a mouthful of cereal as he thinks, legs swinging from where they sit side-by-side at the kitchen island.

“Stay-cation Pros?” Noctis suggests, propping his head in one hand.

Neither of them notices Gladio wander into the kitchen looking worse-for-wear, hair unwashed and up in a frizzy bun as he goes to rummage in the fridge behind them.

“Mm…nah, something related to the beach maybe?” Prompto drums his fingers on the counter.

“Uh…blue skies and sunshine?”

“Too generic.”

The fridge door shuts, and a head peeks over their shoulders to look at the photograph in question. It’s a selfie of the three of them and Ignis lying on the beach in Galahd, sunglasses and smiles on, taken the morning after their wedding.

“How ‘bout…‘life’s a beach’?”

Startling, Prompto and Noctis turn around to glance up at Gladio as he takes a large gulp from the milk carton in his hand.

“Huh. I like it,” Noctis says, eyeing the picture more closely now.

“Me too,” Prompto agrees, already typing it in the caption box for his Insomniagram app.

By the time he posts the picture, Gladio is gone again.

* * *

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice,” Ignis says as he steps into the office in the Citadel.

He’s not usually one to compare notes, but he’s quickly approaching the end of his rope.

“Of course. You ask to see me so little nowadays,” the older man behind the desk chuckles, gesturing that he should sit down.

Ignis does so with trepidation, hoping he doesn’t regret this decision later. For being Ignis’s only living relative, his uncle doesn’t share any resemblance to him, with the exception of having the same high-angled cheekbones. Based on old family photos Ignis has learned that he gets most of his looks from his mother, while his uncle bears a greater resemblance to his late father—dark hair and eyes, with a severe brow.

It’s jarring to look at someone who could be the physical twin of one’s parent, but Ignis will never admit that it’s why he stays away.

“My apologies,” Ignis begins. “As you probably know, I have been rather busy as of late.”

“Yes, His Majesty informed me of the PR campaign you are heading.” The elderly man smiles. He is no stranger to an advisor’s duties, being one himself, nor is he unaware of the happenings within the city, which works in Ignis’s favor as he would rather not explain all the nitty-gritty details. “And I watched the Insomnia Now interview,” he adds. Ignis has to fight to keep from grimacing. “You were rather poised, considering. Your answer to the gender roles question had me chuckling, I must admit. ‘As you can see, we are all men.’” The man’s smile turns from polite to genuine. “Your mother would be proud.”

 _But not my father_ , Ignis’s mind fills in the blank.

It’s a strange compliment, to say the least, but Ignis will take whatever support he can get at this point, and he inclines his head slightly to show his appreciation. “Thank you, uncle. Needless to say, asking four same-sex partners who the ‘woman’ in the relationship is, is a bit outdated and crass.”

There’s a booming laugh from his uncle, a gentle reminder that the older advisor is _not_ Ignis’s father. From what little he remembers from his childhood, the man never smiled or laughed, at least, not in his presence.

“Well played, nephew, well played. Now, what is it exactly that you came for? Surely, it’s not just to chat.” The man leans back, folding his hands over his slightly protruding belly.

“Indeed not, I’m afraid.” It’s the moment of truth. “I actually wanted to ask for your advice.”

Ignis’s uncle leans forward, eyebrows raising in blatant surprise. “Oh? The young prodigy asking _me_ for advice?” From anyone else, it would seem condescending, but the younger advisor knows that no harm is meant. “Very well, I will do my best,” the man agrees readily.

_Now, how to phrase it?_

Ignis removes his glasses to clean them with the microfiber cloth he keeps in his inner jacket pocket, buying himself time to think, and his uncle waits patiently. By the time he puts them back on, he feels that he is ready.

“Uncle, I need to tell me everything you know about the inner workings of the Tenebraean government.”

* * *

Gladio strikes the punching bag again. And again—and again. It’s sent spinning, but he doesn’t stop, landing a dizzying number of blows in a short amount of time.

Sweat flies off his arms and face with every hit, landing in a puddle that is rapidly growing on the floor of the training hall. He discarded his soaked t-shirt a long time ago, and his hair is pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of his face even as stringy strands stick to his temples. His body is sore, muscles burning from the exertion, but he refuses to slow down. The goal is to exercise the anger from his body, much like a priest exorcises daemons.

So far, he hasn’t had any luck.

When he finally takes a break to grab a sip of water, he gasps for air and bends forward, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“You look like you could use one of these,” a sweet voice says.

He sees a towel dangling in his periphery, and as he lifts his head, finds Veronica Platt holding it.

The journalist is wearing a tight black dress today, her hair down and dangling past her shoulders, and she smiles as he takes the towel and uses it to wipe his face.

“Thanks,” he grunts, then frowns, unsure of how a civilian was allowed access into the Crownsguard’s training facility. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I have a couple of friends in the Guard. Told them I was on my way to see you and they let me right in. Do you have a moment?” She pulls out a notebook and pen without waiting for an answer.

Gladio can’t help but chuckle. “Sure. Not like I’m busy or anything,” he deadpans. Hanging the now damp towel around his neck, he takes a swig of water.

“Great. The other day you said you’d give me all the dirty details, so, here I am.” Her eyelashes flutter, mouth pursing slightly as she studies Gladio in a way that is all too familiar.

_Predatory._

He pauses with his water bottle still held to his lips, head tilting as his eyes narrow slightly.

“Let me get this straight…” he says, free hand coming to rest on his hip. “You tracked me down, a married man, unannounced and _alone_ , to ask me about my sex life? You’ve got balls, lady, I’ll give you that.”

Veronica laughs prettily, and Gladio is suddenly remembering a high school party that took place at his house where he had gotten too drunk and made out with a cheerleader. The cheerleader had the same laugh—bells on a convenience store door. Ironically, that party was the last time he had done anything physical with a girl.

 _Ah, memories_.

“In my line of work, you have to be willing to do whatever it takes to get a good story,” she explains before running her pen across her plump, cherry-red lips.

There’s definitely no mistaking it now.

_This woman is on the prowl, but she’s got no clue who she’s messing with._

Smirking, Gladio takes a step in, closing the distance so that they’re less than an arm’s length away from each other. Even with heels on, Veronica is shorter than he is, and he enjoys the sensation he gets from literally looking down on her.

“Oh yeah? And what exactly are you willing to do to get this out of me, huh?” he asks, tone taking on a dangerous timbre.

Seemingly unintimidated, Veronica reaches into one of her jacket pockets while maintaining eye contact, holding a business card in front of her in the same hand that she balances her pen. Taking the edge of it, she scrapes the paper down the middle of his chest, trailing the corner along his abs before allowing it to hover just above his belly button.

“Call me, and maybe you can find out,” she says, voice dropping low.

The room is suddenly as hot and humid as a summer day before a thunderstorm, and Gladio reluctantly reaches to take the business card.

Smiling, Veronica turns abruptly, and he listens to her heels clicking on the hardwood as she walks away, the sound not unlike nails hammering into a coffin. All the while, the Shield’s eyes drill holes into the reporter’s back.

>>>

It isn’t long after Veronica leaves that Gladio is interrupted again, but this time he notices the person as soon as they step into the room.

Ignis is wearing his most serious black suit, not a speck of purple or coeurl print in sight, and it immediately sets Gladio on edge.

_Oh, gods—what now?_

“Is the king dead?” His sword stops mid-swing as Ignis approaches, sparing the wooden opponent in front of him for the time being.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Ignis snorts, amused.

Hiding his relief behind a frown, Gladio shoulders his weapon. “So, then…what’s up?”

He watches Ignis scan the training hall, observing the decimated practice dummies that litter the floor, purposely letting the silence stretch between them as he does so.

“You weren’t answering your phone. Noct said you mentioned you were coming here hours ago,” he finally says.

It’s not a blatant accusation, but it’s enough to raise Gladio’s defenses.

“What? I’m not allowed to train late anymore?”

Ignis’s scrutiny is thinly veiled as he folds his arms across his chest in disapproval. “Certainly, you may do whatever you please, but…”

“But, _what_?”

With one smooth stroke of Gladio’s sword, the practice dummy is decapitated, and its head rolls to a stop at Ignis’s feet. Tossing his weapon back into the armiger, he then matches Ignis’s stance, muscles tightening in anticipation of another argument.

“I saw Veronica Platt leaving on my way in.” Gladio’s eyes snap to meet his husband’s, quick as a lightning strike. “She mentioned she had come to see you.”

“So?” Gladio demands, realizing instantly how it must look.

“Should I be concerned?” the advisor shoots back in exasperation.

“ _Fuck_ , Iggy, of course not!” he growls. “Do none of you trust me anymore? Gods _damnit_!” He nearly summons his sword back into his hand just so he can throw it across the room, but what he really wants is to punch something.

 _This is fucked up. This is all_ so _fucked up._

“Well then,” Ignis says after a lengthy delay. “If you aren’t willing to talk about your feelings, you leave me no choice.”

Gladio sees identical flashes of blue as the advisor calls his daggers from the armiger, and his eyebrows knit together as Ignis places one foot forward, lowering his level.

“What are you—?”

When Ignis lunges for him, it’s the last thing Gladio expects, although he should have seen it coming. His only option is to react, broadsword appearing so that he can block the blades at the last second; the ringing of metal is music to his ears.

“Ignis—” he tries to protest, but Ignis is already on the offensive again, this time summoning fire along the edge of his weapons as he summersaults through the air. “Hey!”

Gladio dodges, jerking to one side, and he can feel the heat from the flames lick at his chest hairs.

 _There will be time for talking later. If it’s a fight he wants, it’s a fight he’ll get_.

Mind made up, the Shield grips the hilt of the sword and swings it in Ignis’s direction with all of his might, cursing when the skilled tactician evades with ease.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Ignis taunts, twirling a dagger for good measure.

Gladio returns the taunt with one of his own, gesturing crudely. “Come to papa.”

For someone so long, Ignis is fast and nimble, dancing in and out of Gladio’s reach while wielding his daggers with deadly precision, and it makes the Shield regret his choice to train for three hours straight. Ignis is difficult enough to keep up with when he’s _not_ tired, let alone after a grueling workout, something that will surely be used against him.

Gladio knows that he is big and slow, which is why he relies on his brute strength and excellent defenses to defeat most of his opponents, but where Noctis and Prompto are impatient and prone to mistakes, Ignis is rarely rash, and he has one major advantage over everyone else: he trains with Gladio the most, and therefore knows all of his weaknesses.

From the get-go, the Shield knows he is fighting a losing battle, but his pride prevents him from giving in, even after Ignis slips inside his guard, trailing fingers across the man’s hip as if to say _‘got you.’_

Or, when Ignis kicks a dagger and its nails him in the chest, causing him to double over in pain. And again, when a swift kick to the back of his knees sends him skidding across the hardwood, sweaty body leaving a trail on the floor like a slug.

The final straw, of course, is when Gladio makes a sloppy attack with his sword, and Ignis expertly chops at his wrist, causing the Shield to drop it. He watches his blade clatter to the ground and skid away, swallowing against the bite of the dagger beneath his Adam’s apple.

“Do you yield?” Ignis murmurs, a sheen of perspiration along his hairline.

 _Fuck, that’s hot,_ Gladio thinks as he stares, nodding wordlessly.

Heat pools in Gladio’s groin when Ignis licks his lips, a wicked smirk curling his mouth’s edges. “On your knees then, soldier.”

Carefully, thighs trembling from exhaustion, Gladio does as he is told, kneeling so that his head is in front of Ignis’s stomach, and he grabs one wrist behind his back obediently, every part of him now at attention.

Ignis’s dagger, still pressed to Gladio’s throat, finds its way beneath his jaw, forcing his chin up. Bending forward, Ignis brings his mouth down to meet his husband’s, sweat mingling with saliva as his tongue slips in-between Gladio’s lips.

_Salty, yet sweet._

“Listen carefully, my dear Gladiolus,” Ignis whispers, warm breath on Gladios’ now cooling skin sending a shiver down his spine. “I have a specific set of instructions for you, and when I’m done, I have _very_ important information to divulge, which shall not be interrupted. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Gladio scarcely dares to breathe, erection now firm and undeniable.

“Excellent,” Ignis says before he kisses Gladio again. And again—and again.

* * *

When they arrive home at last, _much_ later than intended, Prompto and Noctis are curled on the couch like a pair of cats, pressed so close together that it’s hard to differentiate between their bodies, and their heads lifting in comedic unison as Gladio and Ignis walk in.

There’s a brief shift of energy, everyone sharing the same wary expression.

_What’s it going to be? Shouting or laughter? Are we cool?_

“Welcome home,” Prompto says, cracking a smile that breaks the ice. He is the bravest of them in times like these, and Gladio couldn’t be more grateful.

“Hey cuties,” Gladio answers smoothly. It’s unspoken, but important: _We’re cool. No fighting tonight_.

Instantly, Noctis and Prompto disentangle, scooting over to allow Gladio and Ignis room to sit down, and they arrange themselves much in the same way they did in their interview, except this time they’re all melting together seamlessly.

“Have a good sparring session?” Noctis asks conversationally. They all know he’s not talking about training.

Ignis chuckles. “I worked up a sweat.”

“Mmhmm, I bet you did,” the prince hums with approval. “Hope that means you’ll take the stick out of your ass,” he then shoots at Gladio.

For once, Gladio doesn’t retaliate. He knows how to take a hit when he has to. “Iggy told me the plan,” he explains, to which Noctis nods.

“If you woulda listened, we could have told you sooner.”

“Ooh! Love a good plan!” Prompto grins, kicking a leg over Noctis and shooting an arm around Ignis.

Ignis takes the moment to plant a kiss on Prompto’s forehead. “We all have to present a united front and trust one another if we are to get through this. It won’t be easy—”

“—but nothing worthwhile ever is,” Noctis finishes, having heard the saying from his advisor on more than one occasion.

“Just leave the Pratt to me,” Gladio boasts with a chuckle.

“Did she flirt with you already? You gotta tell us. I got 100 crowns saying she did.” Prompto is giggling as Gladio pretends to be offended by the information.

“Hey, I can’t help that the gods blessed me with this body.”

“She _did_! I called it!” Prompto crows, sticking a hand out. “Pay up, Noct.”

“More like ‘cursed’ you, you mean.” Grumbling, Noctis summons the cash from the armiger, palming it over, and Ignis picks up where the conversation left off.

“Based on the information I received from my uncle, I will need to spend some time in Tenebrae under false pretenses. I am trusting the rest of you to manage the PR campaign while I am away. Do you think you three can handle it?”

Prompto holds his hand out again, this time in the form of a gently closed fist, inviting Noctis and Gladio to do the same.

“We got this,” Prompto declares with confidence.

“Yep. Leave it to us. I’ve been dealing with the paparazzi my whole life. Pretty sure we can handle _Insomnia Now_ ,” Noctis agrees, bumping his fist against Prompto’s.

The three turn to Gladio expectantly, the only one yet to go all-in. He leans in closer. “Stealth isn’t typically my style, but I gotta say, Specs has me convinced. I’m down.” Covering the two fists with one of his large hands, he squeezes, laughing when Ignis turns to kiss him full on the mouth.

“Thank the Six, because the bed is much colder without you in it,” Ignis teases.

“Oh, I see how it is—you just want me for my body, huh? Well, get in line.”

But Gladio’s banter has no bite, and he willingly accepts the three bodies that pile on top of him, his hands grabbing them and holding them tight.

“We missed you,” Prompto breathes, nose burrowing into Gladio’s beard.

“I’m not goin’ nowhere,” Gladio promises.

“Hell yeah, you’re not. You’re stuck with us,” adds Noctis. The prince’s hand grabs onto Gladio’s firm backside with an appreciative sigh, making the larger man smile.

 _Right where I want to be_.


	4. Best Kept Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Ignis gone, Gladio, Prompto, and Noctis are left to fend for themselves, for better or for worse.

It is early when Ignis says his farewells to Gladio, Prompto and Noctis still sleeping soundly beside them. They enjoy playing the ‘quiet game’ when it involves stifled moans and curses and a hot, luxurious shower afterward, and it seems appropriate for the last morning Ignis will spend in the house before he leaves for Tenebrae.

They linger at the front door once they’re both dressed, Ignis protesting that Gladio is wasting the air conditioning by keeping the door open, and Gladio ignoring him in favor of drawing out their goodbye kiss. Gladio inhales the scent of Ignis’s shampoo as their lips continue to slide together, hair still damp from their shared shower, and tries to commit it to memory.

Sometimes, even he can be sentimental.

“I don’t know when I’ll see you again, so I gotta get everything in now,” Gladio jokes, hands on Ignis’s ass as he pulls him in close, until there is no space left between them.

“Darling, we could have an eternity and it still wouldn’t be enough. I’ll see you again soon.”

It’s not ‘goodbye,’ it’s ‘see you later,’ but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Eventually, after another round of makeouts and groping, Gladio leaves for work (“You’re going to be late, Gladio,” “So what? They’re not gonna fire me, I’m the Shield.”), resisting the urge to look over his shoulder as he climbs into one of the car’s in the driveway, and Ignis waits until he drives off to finish the rest of his morning routine.

Eventually, Prompto makes his way downstairs, still in his boxers, and he murmurs a ‘g’mornin’ when he sees Ignis sitting at the counter. Bleary-eyed and quiet, he shuffles into the kitchen, pouring himself some freshly made coffee. It’s one of the many things he’s going to miss after Ignis leaves. No one makes coffee like he does.

“Noct still isn’t up?” Ignis asks, already knowing the answer.

Prompto shrugs from where he stands across the kitchen, currently engrossed in achieving the perfect ratio of creamer to coffee. In Ignis’s mind, that ratio is zero, but to each their own.

“Dunno. Don’t think so.”

The advisor glances down at his watch and sighs. His bags are packed and ready by the door, and he will need to leave in the next ten minutes if he’s to make it to the docks on time.

“I thought he set an alarm,” Ignis comments, trying not to let his irritation show.

“Yeah, y’know how he is. Snoozed it three times already,” Prompto replies around a yawn. “Want me to get him?”

“No.” Ignis’s lips purse, and Prompto sips his coffee slow, eyeing him. “That’s alright. Let him sleep.” He gets up, carrying his long empty coffee mug to the sink to rinse and place in the dishwasher with care.

“Iggy, he’s gonna be upset if you don’t say goodbye to him.”

_Then he should have gotten up on time._

Ignis can’t understand where this sudden animosity is coming from. Being petty is not his style, nor is acting emotionally. Prompto _is_ right of course, and he knows he will regret not seeing Noctis before he leaves, so after a moment of deliberation he trudges up the stairs and towards their master bedroom, throwing the door open loudly when he gets there.

Noctis has covers piled on top of him, somehow having found his way into the middle of their giant bed. Ignis sees the top of his head poking out from beneath them and pauses to survey the scene before approaching the bedside.

“Noct.”

There is a grumble from the blanket mountain, and Ignis places his hands on his hips.

_“Noctis.”_

“Mm…?”

“I’m leaving.” His tone is taut from impatience.

The head wriggles out then, like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. As much as Ignis wants to hold on to his annoyance, he feels it melt away as soon as he sees a pair of gray-blue eyes blink up at him drowsily.

The prince shakes his head. “Don’t go.”

Ignis’s exasperation bleeds through as a hand emerges from under the sheets to grab the advisor by the wrist, pulling him to sit down on the bed.

“Noctis, we already discussed this.”

“Don’t go.” It’s whispered this time—vulnerable—and doubt floods Ignis’s mind.

_Am I doing the right thing by leaving them all here? What if they need me? What if Noctis needs me?_

“Noct, I…” He isn’t sure how to put it into words. That he doesn’t _want_ to leave, but that he has to for their plan to succeed—for their future—for their family.

Noctis kisses the back of Ignis’s knuckles, and the advisor uses his free hand to pat the prince’s head reassuringly.

“I’ll be back before you have a chance to miss me.” He forces a smile even as Noctis frowns.

“Fat chance. I already miss you.”

 _Me too_ , he wants to say, but refrains. Now Ignis is beginning to think he should have left without saying goodbye. It would have at least spared him this heartache.

_Who am I kidding?_

It would hurt no matter what.

“I promise to call with updates. And you’ll have Gladio and Prompto here with you,” Ignis reminds him as he studies Noctis’s long eyelashes, now downturned and brushing over his pale cheeks. Everything about the prince is beautiful, and Ignis feels something in his chest tighten. He knows he needs to go now or he won’t go at all, so even though it pains him, he pulls away, gently removing his hand from his husband’s hold.

“I love you.” Noctis’s voice is rough, and Ignis chooses to believe it’s from sleep and not the emotion threatening to overwhelm them both.

“I love you too, my prince.” Ignis bends to bestow a kiss on Noctis’s lips, risking the chance that he’ll be grabbed again, but he isn’t, and he leaves the room quietly, heart heavy.

When he goes downstairs again, Prompto is waiting in the living room, and he jumps up from where he is sitting on the couch, eyes glossy. Ignis’s throat constricts when the man comes forward to throw his arms around him, burying his blond head into the advisor’s shoulder.

“Hurry home, okay? We need ya here, Iggy.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage.” But Ignis can barely get the words out, and he clings to Prompto a little tighter, lips pressing to the crown of his head. “Take care of these troublemakers for me, won’t you?” he then says, attempting a lighthearted tone.

“You got it, boss,” Prompto agrees, spinning out of reach to salute playfully. Ignis pretends he doesn’t see the tears streaming down the man’s face.

“Alright then. I’m on my way.” He picks up his bags decisively as Prompto opens the door for him.

“Safe travels, Iggy,” Prompto bids against Ignis’s back.

He doesn’t turn around, unable to ensure he will actually leave if he does.

* * *

Gladio feels overdressed for the occasion in his favorite tailored suit, hair pulled back and beard trimmed, but he promised Ignis he’d follow his instructions to the letter.

“Dress to kill,” Ignis had said over the phone, the hint of a smile in his voice.

“Birthday suit then?” Gladio replied, to hoots and hollers from Prompto and Noctis in the background.

“Only if you want _me_ to kill _you_ when I return.”

It has only been a week since Ignis left Insomnia for Tenebrae, yet somehow it feels like it has been a month, and everyone is eager to put their respective pieces of the plan into action. Gladio is sitting on a bench outside of Insomnia Now’s office building; his task: infiltrate the media. Which means another meeting with Veronica Platt, this time on his terms.

When his phone buzzes, he answers it right away.

“Yo.”

“Alright Red Eagle, I got sound and eyes on her,” Prompto’s voice announces, pleased. “Wasn’t easy, by the way.”

“Red Eagle? What does that make you, Baby Chocobo?” Gladio scoffs. “And don’t lie, I know you’ve hacked security cameras before.”

“ _Gold_ Chocobo, thank you very much. You’ve gotta be quicker on the uptake there, big guy. And yeah, hacking them wasn’t the problem.”

Gladio gets up as he rolls his eyes, taking in his surroundings to ensure no one passing on the street is eavesdropping on his conversation.

“Uh-huh.” He’s half-listening as he heads up the steps to enter through the revolving glass doors, nodding and smiling at every person he comes across when he enters the lobby.

If they’re a little starry-eyed, well—he _is_ a celebrity now—Veronica made sure of that. Once their interview with her aired, he couldn’t go anywhere in the city without getting gawked at by strangers.

Hopefully, he’d be able to use it in his favor.

“Planting the camera in her office was the hard part. You’d think it was the Citadel with how their security questioned me. Showed them my fake badge, work order, the whole thing.”

“Probably because most handymen aren’t cute twinks,” Gladio grins, nodding to a security guard on his way past the front desk. No one seems eager to question why he’s there or where he’s going.

“Aww, well aren’t you a sweetheart.”

“Mhm, you know it.”

“You sure this is gonna work?” Prompto is asking nervously as Gladio climbs into the nearest elevator and presses the button that will take him to the journalism offices.

“Specs said it should,” Gladio murmurs, lowering his voice as a few Insomnia Now employees pile into the elevator alongside him. “Hey, honey, gotta go. I’ll give you a call back later. Say hello to the kids for me,” he finishes smoothly before hanging up.

He watches people move in and out of the elevator as it makes its various stops, letting himself out when it finally stutters to a halt on the tenth floor.

The receptionist sitting at the circular desk of the waiting room looks up from whatever she is working on, then does a double-take, eyes widening.

“Oh—Mr. Amicitia, I take it?”

“Amicitia-Caelum, yes,” Gladio corrects with a winning smile, sauntering up to lean on the counter. He notices that the young woman is blushing, and he watches her tuck a loose strand of her curly strawberry blonde hair behind one ear and nod.

“Excuse me, Mr. Amicitia-Caelum. I believe Ms. Platt is expecting you. She just got back from lunch.”

“Yes, we have an appointment,” Gladio confirms, rolling up one sleeve to look at his watch for emphasis, a watch he only wears with this suit in particular, inlaid with red and black stone around the face.

Ignis always did have an expensive taste in gifts, but Gladio wears it to humor him, and he sees how the receptionist eyes it appreciatively with her baby-blues.

 _Maybe Specs knows more about this kind of thing than I realized._ ‘Dress to kill,’ indeed.

“She’s the third door on the left. Do you need me to show you, or…?” The nameless woman is half rising, all-too-eager to assist, but Gladio shakes his head, reaching out to place a hand on her arm for a fraction of a second.

“Oh, no worries. I’m a big boy, I think I can handle it.” He winks, because— _well, why the hell not?_ —and it gives him the satisfaction of watching her blush deepen. Her giggle is anxiously delighted, and it makes him unexpectedly miss Prompto.

_Gods, I can’t wait to fuck him when we get home. Bet he’d look good in that skirt she’s wearing._

But he knows now isn’t the time to be daydreaming, so he turns to head in the direction she indicated, stopping when he finds Veronica’s door, the reporter’s name affixed to it by a small golden placard.

 _Moment of truth, I guess_.

He straightens his red silk tie before knocking, listening for the response that comes shortly after.

“Come in.”

The office is less impressive than he thought it would be, the furniture about what you would expect to find in a tabloid magazine’s headquarters. One plain gray desk with a matching swivel chair, and a row of filing cabinets behind it are dimly lit by what little sunlight streams through two adjacent windows, upturned blinds filtering most of it, and he raises an eye at the stacks of papers strewn across every available surface, stacks that Veronica is now hastily straightening.

It’s a room that feels too small for Gladio, and he stands awkwardly in the doorway as Veronica rearranges her clutter before pulling a folding chair away from the wall and placing it in front of her desk for him.

“Please, have a seat,” she beckons, returning to her own.

“Is this a bad time?” Gladio wonders, seeing how flustered she appears.

He almost feels sorry for what he’s about to do.

_Almost._

“No, not at all,” she promises, sitting back to smile that smile he hates. It’s the fake and forced one, telling him clearly that it _is_ , in fact, a bad time, almost as if meeting with him is supposed to be some sort of favor she’s paying him that he is expected to be thankful for.

_Fuck that shit._

He plops down in the chair she set out, feeling it give a little beneath him, and he tries to get comfortable as best he can, allowing his gaze to pan over Veronica’s body with what he hopes appears to be unveiled interest.

She’s in a black skirt and matching blazer today, a bright blue shirt with a v-neck barely visible beneath it, and her hair is back, though there are some strands that have fallen free of her low ponytail.

He sees her shift to cross one leg over the other, and he fights to maintain a neutral expression.

_Good. Let her squirm._

“I wanted to discuss your terms,” Gladio says, watching her eyebrows raise. “But if you’re busy, we can always talk another time. Maybe somewhere more...private.”

“No one will bother us here,” she says without hesitation. Another smile, this one thinner and more sincere. “You’ve considered my offer then? I have to admit, I didn’t think you would after our last interaction. What changed?” She picks a pen out of a mug on her desk, removing the cap with her teeth before searching for a scrap of unused paper to write on.

“Well, I figured I might as well hear what you had to say.” He chuckles, wishing the chair was big enough for him to drape an arm over. He settles for placing his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. “You, uh, do this often with your clients?”

“Meet with them?” she questions sweetly. “Well, certainly. How else would I conduct an interview, Mr. Amicitia?”

He bites back a retort that he would most definitely regret, choosing to laugh through his teeth instead. “Fair enough. So how’s this gonna work, huh?”

“Well, obviously, this would be an even exchange. Information for…” she waves a hand vaguely.

 _Gods, she’s good at this_ , Gladio thinks, secretly frustrated. He knows that somewhere Prompto is listening and watching this unfold via the camera he planted earlier, looking for anything they can use to incriminate Veronica and hold over her as blackmail, but it’s beginning to look like it might be more difficult to accomplish than they initially thought.

“But of course, I would require collateral,” Veronica declares matter-of-factly, scribbling something down on the page.

Gladio gets a sinking feeling, but he remains calm, lacing hands behind his head as if to say: _See? Look at me. Not concerned whatsoever._

“What, like nudes?” he snorts as Veronica slides the paper over. Curiously, he grabs it, staring down at the page.

“Nothing so crass. I’m a professional, after all.”

He barely hears her as he is consumed by cold fury, head snapping up as he crumples the page in one fist.

“Is this a joke?” he demands tightly, tone harsh. He has the sudden urge to flip the desk over and pin Veronica beneath it.

“Did you take me for an idiot?” she asks, too innocently. She already knows the answer.

 _Yes_.

“Of course not,” Gladio huffs. “But I gotta think about this.” _And talk to Ignis._

“Take your time,” Veronica urges, again as if _she’s_ the one doing _him_ the favor. “You know where to find me.” It’s clearly a dismissal, as she now goes back to sifting through a file at one edge of the desk, and Gladio is left shellshocked, wondering where exactly he went wrong.

Quietly, he gets up and lets himself out.

Once in the hall, he rushes back the way he came and past the receptionist, ignoring her honey-sweet ‘goodbye’ as he heads for the elevator, phone already buzzing in his pocket.

He answers it as soon as the doors shut, already knowing that it’s Prompto calling.

“What the hell happened?” his husband asks, perplexed.

“I’ll tell you later. I gotta call Ignis first.” Gladio closes his eyes, letting his head thud back against the back of the elevator compartment, pulse thundering in his temples. “We underestimated her. This may not be worth the risk.”

“Who, Veronica?” Prompto is incredulous, and Gladio can hardly blame him. Up until this point, he thought she was just another dumb bimbo too, but no longer. “Just keep watching the feed. See if you can find anything else. We need to regroup.”

He hangs up without saying goodbye, exhaling loudly before slapping his hand roughly against the wall beside him, the sting in his palm oddly soothing.

“Fuck,” he whispers as the doors finally slide open with a gentle ding. “ _Fuck_.”

* * *

Noctis is standing outside the council room, trying to calm the livewire that is his nerves.

“How are things over there?” he asks into his phone, desperately trying to take his mind off of the meeting he scheduled under his advisor’s guidance.

A necessary evil is _still_ evil.

Ignis hums in reply. It’s meant to be calming. Usually, it helps. _Usually_ doesn’t apply to today, unfortunately.

“Quite well, actually. The Tenebraean cuisine is an improvement, in any case. Although the nights are still rather lonely.”

The prince cracks a smile at that. “You gonna tell us what’s going on, or are you still keeping it in that head of yours?”

“All in good time, my love. Ah—Gladio is calling, probably with an update on his meeting with Veronica. Call me after you speak with the council, won’t you?”

“You got it.”

“And Noct?”

“Hm?” He’s distracted by the council members who are now filing into the room beside him, several casting him appraising looks.

“You will be fine. I have faith in you.”

 _That makes one of us._ “Thanks, Specs.”

He listens to the silence after Ignis hangs up, using it as an excuse to delay for a bit longer, but eventually, he has no choice but to enter the room. After all, it wouldn’t be good for the prince to be late to his own council meeting.

When he enters, he tries to remember what Ignis told him. _Head up, shoulders back. Look them in the eye—smile, but don’t be too friendly. Just enough to have them drop their guard. But most importantly, remember that you are the Prince of Lucis. When you become king they will serve you, not the other way around._

His father’s chair at the head of the table is empty, the one to the right of it designated for the prince. Noctis takes his seat, aware of all the eyes that follow him as he does so, and he clears his throat, remembering the speech Prompto and Gladio helped him practice in front of his bedroom mirror. Of course, there was a lot more giggling and less clothing involved at the time, but he tries not to think of that now.

“Hello everyone, thank you for agreeing to meet with me today. I wanted to talk about a law that I would like to petition His Majesty to change, something that was brought to your attention by my head advisor not long ago. I know the king’s illness has slowed the progress of a lot of things, but I feel it is too important to wait.”

He pauses.

_Speak slowly and confidently._

“The law I want to revise is the Insomnian Marriage Act. Right now it defines marriage as a union between two people.”

_Deep breaths. Make sure to make eye contact._

Noctis looks around the table at the familiar faces, the majority of them older and unsmiling. Clarus, who is meant to be the representative for King Regis, is the only one who appears relaxed, settled to one side of his chair with his chin propped on one fist.

“With the council’s approval, and of course, His Majesty’s approval, I’d like to request the law be changed to include polyamorous unions. As I’m sure you know, I have a personal stake in this, but it’s more than that. I think this change would benefit Insomnia’s citizens, and people like me, by recognizing _all_ of their partners. Legally.”

Some of the council members exchange glances with Noctis’s words, and there are several hushed whispers that he can’t decipher. The prince swallows hard then, trying not to panic. Public speaking had never been his thing, but at least before he always had Ignis to help him.

On his own, it is much more intimidating.

 _Once you have their attention, present them with something they cannot ignore_.

“Um, and...” He swallows again. “For those that might be concerned that the royal line won’t continue, I have discussed things with the Oracle, and have received her blessing to use her as a surrogate for any future children.”

All conversation ceases instantly, and for the span of three heartbeats, there is total silence.

Then, everyone begins speaking at once, the room erupting into chaos.


	5. Give and Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis comes to the realization that things are harder than he first thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone's patience in waiting for this chapter!

Noctis hears Gladio as he walks up the driveway, the man’s voice only grows louder when he turns his key in the lock.

“—I cannot believe that bitch is blackmailing us! Who the hell does she think she is?”

Gladio and Prompto’s heads turn towards Noctis as the door opens, the two huddled together on the living room couch with Glado’s phone held between them.

When the prince hears Ignis’s voice coming from the speaker, he almost starts to cry. _Almost_. But that would start a long conversation that he doesn’t have the energy for, so he holds it in.

“We need to remain calm. I can handle this.” Noctis hears Ignis say.

“How the hell do you plan on handling it while you’re in another country?” Gladio points out. Prompto takes the time to wave to Noct, making a face while mouthing: _It’s not good._

Giving a nod of thanks to Prompto for the heads up, the prince wanders over to join his husbands, not bothering to remove his shoes. So long as Ignis doesn’t see, he’s in the clear.

“Hey Ignis,” Noctis calls, bending over Gladio until his face appears in the smaller of two feeds on the video call.

“Ah, my favorite husband,” Ignis jokes. (Gladio and Prompto take vocal offense. _“Hey!”_ ) “How did the council meeting go?”

_How does he always know?_

“Uh.”

Noctis winces as Ignis leans closer to the screen, a gauzy curtain serving as the advisor’s backdrop. _Must be in his room in the Tenebraean palace,_ he muses _._ “It was...interesting. A lot of talking. You know how meetings go.”

“Indeed.” Ignis’s tone tells Noctis that his answer isn’t the least bit satisfying, but luckily Prompto is quick to jump to his rescue.

“Sooo...Gladio talked to Veronica, and she’s apparently blackmailing him, but he won’t tell us how.” He sounds almost impressed, and it earns him a vicious side-eye from Gladio. Prompto scoots over in case he has to make a daring escape, not that he would get far if the Shield put any effort into chasing him.

“What does she have on you?” Noctis directs the question at Gladio, watching the larger man throw his head back and sigh.

“You remember Luche?”

For Noctis, hearing the name is like sticking a finger in an electrical socket, and it invokes images of a bloodied training room floor and Prompto sobbing, head buried in Ignis’s shoulder.

Memories of that night are a blur of grim faces and murderous rage as Noctis thinks back on the slurs the Glaive had reportedly used in reference to him and his retainers. He remembers fearing he’d never see Gladio again after his Shield’s brutal assault on the man, no matter how justified his actions might have been. The Crown Prince of Insomnia had been barred from seeing his then-boyfriend, unsure of the man’s fate and, for once, powerless to help.

_Family members only. No exceptions._

He’d waited at home with Prompto while Ignis promised to handle things, too afraid to sleep in case they missed any important news.

The next morning, Gladio had come home, and no one had thought to ask any questions.

“What about him?” Ignis asks when Noctis doesn’t, body language suggesting he wants to reach through the phone and grab Gladio by the shoulders.

“Well, apparently she knows what you did to keep him quiet.”

There is a collective inhale, though for different reasons.

“Wait...what _you_ did? What does Gladio mean, Iggy?” Prompto’s voice is small as he reaches for Noctis’s hand. Not catching the hint, the prince doesn’t take it. He’s too busy staring at Ignis, who sits back and pinches the bridge of his nose in dismay.

“Does she have proof?” he wonders, words thin.

Prompto’s jaw drops.

“Didn’t stick around long enough to find out,” Gladio admits. It dawns on Noctis that Gladio is privy to private information that Ignis has been keeping from them for months.

_Oh, how the tables have turned._

“What does he mean?” Prompto repeats, louder this time. He paws at Gladio’s arm, trying to get his attention, but Gladio continues to face forward, eyes on the advisor.

Noctis can hear a buzzing in his ear. It blocks out everything but Ignis’s voice.

The man’s response is simple and unashamed. “I bribed Luche and his family not to press charges...and may or may not have made several veiled threats of what might happen if they chose not to comply.”

There is a long pause. When he breaks it, Noctis doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice.

“You did _what_?”

“It was the only choice.” Firm, practical. It’s very Ignis, but it feels _wrong_ in a way that Noctis can’t describe. Like a stranger is talking and not the man that he’s known his entire life.

The world is spinning too fast, and Noctis grips the edge of the couch, closing his eyes to try and prevent himself from falling over. His mouth feels like there’s peanut butter stuck to the roof of it, but somehow he manages to speak.

“Why didn’t you tell us when it happened? We could have helped. We could have figured something out. _Together_.”

“As the prince, I didn’t want you to shoulder the burden of—”

“That’s not an excuse and you know it!”

No one says a word. Ignis steeples his fingers in front of his face, shielding his expression from view.

What else is there to say?

The prince wants to hit something if only so he won’t cry. He ends up doing the next best thing—he flees; out of the room, through the door, to the end of the driveway, and down the street, all the while with shouts on his heels. He doesn’t stop.

He hears them calling his name, but he keeps running.

 _Going, going, gone_.

* * *

“Man, you must have _owned_ people in hide-and-seek when you were little.”

Noctis doesn’t turn his head, just continues to gaze blankly up at the curtain of stars above him. _I didn’t have anyone to play with then_ , he doesn’t say.

The ground is cold and unforgiving. It seems appropriate.

“I bet it’s a lot easier to get on top of buildings when you can warp though. Seems kinda unfair to everyone else.” Prompto grunts as he flops onto the concrete, wriggling up to Noctis’s side until they are shoulder-to-shoulder. “It was a bitch climbing that fence. Think I tore a hole in my pants,” he goes on. Then, “I figured I’d find you here.”

 _Here_ being the roof of their old high school. They used to lie on the ground and talk like this all the time, usually when they were skipping class, but sometimes at night too. They’d sneak in just to get away from the world and their problems, problems that seem much smaller now in retrospect. A lot of memories have been shared between them here—secrets, and love confessions, and first kisses...

It used to be a place Noctis felt safe when he had nowhere else to go.

“Noct, talk to me, buddy.”

He doesn’t want to talk. He wants to be angry. To throw a tantrum like a five-year-old. To punch a wall. But he can’t do that, not to Prompto. Not when it’s Ignis he really wants to yell at.

“This sucks,” Noctis eventually huffs. It’s the understatement of the century, but Prompto just listens like always, humming in acknowledgment. “I mean—what the hell, man? How could Ignis keep that sort of thing from us? Now what are we supposed to do? What am _I_ supposed to do? And if I can’t even deal with this without my advisor, how am I supposed to run a whole country? It’s too much!” He’s shouting without meaning to now, throwing his hands up angrily.

He wishes he could grab the stars and toss them across the sky. Something— _anything_. It would be better than nothing, which is exactly what he’s doing now.

_Absolutely nothing._

The realization makes his arms heavy, and he lets them come down slowly before wrapping them around himself, fingers digging into skin. “How am I supposed to do this without him?” the prince whispers.

Noctis isn’t sure if he is referring to Ignis or his father.

Maybe it’s a little of both.

Prompto isn’t prone to silence. He hates it, in fact. But he’s also not one who fills the space when he knows it’s needed.

After a few minutes, Prompto’s hand finds one of Noctis’s that the prince still has tucked into an armpit, and he begins to sing.

 _“When the night_ — _has come_ — _and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we see…No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid_ — _just as long as you stand, stand by me…”_

Prompto squeezes Noctis’s hand as he continues, and the prince closes his eyes, blocking out everything but the sound of his crooning voice. It’s funny how, after all this time, Prompto is still the best at calming him down. How he always knows just what to say and what to do, no matter the circumstance.

It’s even funnier, because Noctis knows how he tells people that he isn’t as talented, or as smart, or as strong as the rest of them, but the prince knows the truth. He’s everything Noctis needs and more, in this moment especially.

The stars look a little brighter when the prince opens his eyes again, and the silence isn’t as painful. Prompto is smiling at him in the dark, the sole ray of sunshine.

“Ready to go home?” he asks gently.

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, sitting up. “Let’s go home.”

They hold hands the whole way back.

* * *

Noctis knows Gladio is tired because he doesn’t even bother arguing when he walks through the door. The Shield just gives him a nod and watches the prince trudge up the stairs with Prompto in tow.

He’d thought for sure Gladio would interrupt them a few minutes later. They hadn’t exactly been quiet while having sex. Not that Noctis would have been that petty on purpose, of course.

Sometimes, you just have to be loud.

But Gladio doesn’t join them until Prompto is fast asleep, and even then, he spares a good fifteen minutes showing before climbing into bed. They’re cuddled together now, with Prompto passed out on the other side of the prince. His faint snoring is kinda cute (since Noctis isn’t actively trying to sleep, that is).

Noctis is still naked, too exhausted physically and emotionally after lovemaking to crawl to the bathroom and clean himself up. Besides, Prompto’s warm limbs are tangled with his, and he doesn’t want to risk waking him.

Typically, Gladio is a ‘kick the front door’ kinda guy when it comes to communicating. Ignis is a ‘sneak in the back door as quietly as possible’ person. Prompto avoids the house altogether, and Noctis? Noctis tries to knock and somehow ends up burning the house down. But Gladio is quiet, and it spooks Noctis more than anything.

It doesn’t leave him any choice, not if he wants to fix things.

Noctis takes a deep breath. “Hey, you remember what you told me?” Idly, he presses a hand to Gladio’s bare stomach, letting it rest just above the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Hm?” It’s a sleepy murmur, a reminder that even Gladio can be adorable if he doesn’t try too hard.

Noctis snorts, letting his fingers move in slow circles around his belly button. “You said, ‘how the hell are you both so calm about this? This involves _all_ of us, not just you.’”

There’s a scoff. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yep, you did.”

“Hmm.”

Gladio isn’t one to back down from a fight. He’s always been bigger and tougher than Noctis, physically speaking, and has wielded a sword since he could walk. But in this area, Noctis is stronger.

 _This is one battle you won’t win_.

“Alright, maybe I did. So, what?”

They look at each other. Even in the dark, Noctis knows the face Gladio is making. It’s the same one he wears when he issues a challenge, whether it be before sparring or some dumb bet that Ignis will scold them for later.

“So…” Noctis’s hand stops moving on Gladio’s abs as he thinks. “...we make up. And move on. I can’t do this without you guys.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“ _Hey_.” Gladio’s laugh is muffled by hair as he kisses the back of Noctis’s head. When he quiets again, the prince keeps talking. “No more secrets, okay?”

This time, Gladio kisses the base of Noctis’s neck. “No secrets.”

The relief Noctis feels is immediate. “Guess we should call Specs, huh? You think he’s awake?”

“Only one way to find out.” Gladio is already sitting up, reaching for his cellphone on the nightstand. Prompto mutters something in his sleep, turning over.

Noctis lays against his Shield’s chest, listening to the dial tone with bated breath. He’s not sure why he feels nervous. Ignis picks up on the second ring.

“Hello?” The advisor sounds _so_ tired, and Noctis’s guilt rears its ugly head.

“Iggy, there’s a new plan,” Gladio says as the prince attempts to smother himself in the man’s pectorals.

 _Six, strike me down and end my suffering._ If only he could be that lucky.

“Oh?” It’s a polite response, considering. Ignis is nothing if not polite, even when he has every right not to be.

The guilt is now gnawing a hole in the pit of Noctis’s stomach, eating through his intestines. He hates everything about this. As Gladio takes point on the conversation, he thinks back to the days when they were young and dumb and all tripping over each other, hopelessly in love. When _that_ was all that mattered. Not marriage laws. Not publicity. Not proving themselves to anyone but each other. When it was just the four of them, in their own little world.

“No more secrets. Clean slate. Let’s start over.”

 _Gods, how I wish we could_.

“I would like that,” Ignis agrees. He sounds defeated— _broken_ —and Noctis hates that most of all. That _he_ is the one who did that to him.

 _Hate, hate, hate_.

“Is Noctis there?”

In the blue light of the phone screen, Gladio glances over at the prince. _Do you want to talk?_ His eyes ask.

_No more running. Time to move forward._

“Yeah Iggy, I’m here.” Noctis takes the phone, wedging it between his ear and his shoulder. “Prompto’s asleep.” It’s not the only reason why he’s speaking softly, but Ignis doesn’t need to know that he’s on the verge of tears again.

“Noct, I—”

“I’m sorry.” He beats him to the punch for once. “Can we just...forget this happened?” _Start over_ , _like Gladio said?_

There’s a shuddered breath that comes through the receiver. “Of course, Your Highness.”

The formal title is a step backward, and it stings in an unexpected way, but Noctis doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s not the fixer of the group, despite his best efforts. Instead, he’s burning the house down—again.

A yawn from the other side of the bed wrenches Noctis momentarily out of his downward spiral. “...Iggy? Is Iggy home?” Prompto asks, confused in his drowsiness.

“No, darling, unfortunately not. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm.” With a little sigh, the blond settles, slipping easily back into his slumber. Noctis bitterly wishes he was that carefree.

“It’s getting rather late. Shall I call you tomorrow?” Ignis asks.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

“Yeah, sure. If you want,” the prince answers in a rush. “No pressure.”

“Of course.” There is a pause like maybe Ignis wants to say more, but he doesn’t.

“G’night, Iggy,” Gladio grunts at last, bringing an abrupt end to the call.

“Good night, my loves.”

“Night.” Noctis manages to squeeze in the last word before they hang up, but he doesn’t feel good about it.

* * *

 _‘_ This sucks’ is quickly becoming Noctis’s new mantra.

There is exhaustion behind his eyes, the lack of sleep making all of his limbs heavier than lead, but a promise is a promise, and he’s been putting off this visit long enough.

“Too busy to see your ailing father?” Regis had meant for it to be teasing, but Noctis had been on edge from yet another night of tossing-and-turning, things still tense between him and Ignis since his blowup days before. It might have been why he responded the way he did, not that it was an excuse.

“Yeah, actually.”

“...ah. I see.” The pain in the king’s voice was plain as day.

 _Great job, Noctis_.

“I’ll stop by later, okay?” he promised. Couldn’t exactly air out his marriage woes to his dad.

“You needn’t trouble yourself if—”

 _Polite. Everybody is so damn polite_. He finally understood why Gladio opted to fight everyone. It was a lot easier to bulldoze straight through social barriers than take the time to find ways around them.

“It’s no trouble, dad. I’ll see you later.” It seemed better not to drag things out, so he hung up. Noctis knew he was the only person who could hang up on the king and get away with it.

But now he is standing in the hallway outside of his father’s chambers, afraid to go in. He knows the pattern on the doors by heart, can trace its golden overlay with his eyes closed. He remembers the colors of the curtains are a rich mauve, and that the painting above the four-post canopy bed ( _Eos and Creation)_ is the only one of its kind in all of Lucis; that his father’s face lights up whenever he looks at it.

_“Your mother bought this for me. You do not remember because you had only just been born…”_

_“Dad, I’ve heard this story a million times already.”_

The prince memorized the feeling of his father’s bed sheets from all the times he curled on top of them when he was younger, notes the one window that is slightly different, a replacement from the time he was practicing his warping and broke it on accident. Clarus nearly had a heart attack when Regis jumped out after him.

They’d laughed about it later.

Noctis isn’t prepared to see the new things when he finally enters the room—the machines, and the doctors, and the potions on the nightstand. The things that do not belong there. He especially isn’t ready to see his father lying in his bed looking smaller and frailer and _older_ than ever before.

But Noctis puts on a brave face. He smiles. He thinks he makes some sort of joke, he can’t be sure. They talk about politics and the weather, nothing too deep.

Minutes feel like hours.

“Thank you for stopping by,” Regis says at last. Like Noctis is doing him a fucking favor.

_Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate._

_Some son I am._

“I love you.”

“Love you too, dad.”

The visit begins to come to its natural end, and Noctis squirms in the high-backed chair he is sitting in, ready to flee. The hand that lays across his is unexpected, and it startles him. Regis’s skin feels like paper, thin and rough.

“Noctis.” He meets his father’s eyes reluctantly. “What’s troubling you?”

‘Everything’ would be too vague of an answer to give, even if he’s extremely tempted to.

“Don’t worry about me, just focus on getting better.”

“My boy, I am your father. I will worry about you until the day I die.”

_I hope that day doesn’t come any time soon._

Noctis looks to the _Creation of Eos_ on the wall. The painting is one of mayhem, with fire and light licking out from its center, daemons lurking in the shadows around it, and amid it all is a beautiful goddess, arms outstretched and smiling, the Six fleeing from beneath her robes in every direction. The chaos it portrays is relatable given the status of Noctis’s personal life.

There must have been something in his body language that gave him away, because the king shakes his head and smiles, albeit sadly.

“You needn’t carry every burden alone, you know.”

“Thanks, really, but I don’t think you’d understand,” Noctis says.

Despite his fragile health, there is a twinkle in his father’s eyes. “Try me.”

 _Where would I even start?_ he wonders.

“Maybe another time.” Getting up, he squeezes his father’s hand once before turning to go.

“My door is always open, Noctis.” It’s the last thing he hears before it shuts behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for this being a super angsty chapter;; But! I promise it will get better!
> 
> The reference to Luche and the assault is from "The Long and Short of It All" in case anyone was confused!
> 
> Also, Prompto singing "Stand by Me" is a cheeky reference to my Promptis fic, "Stand by You."


	6. Low Blows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stakes are raised as Noctis & Company are forced to reevaluate their original plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually really pleased with how this chapter turned out. I got spontaneously inspired and wrote it in less than 24-hours. I'll still be a little slow updating as I'm a part of a big project that needs to take precedence. Thanks for everyone's patience!

Ignis spends a little more time than usual inspecting himself in the mirror. Not because he particularly enjoys looking at himself, but because he knows that every detail counts, especially today.

Today, his choices will make or break the plan he has been carefully crafting over the last few months. Keeping that in mind, he dons a thicker coat than usual. It is in the traditional Tenebraean style, a rich navy blue with golden buttons and embroidery, and its tail hits the backs of his thighs. He ensures that his form-fitting white pants are without wrinkles and that his boots, the tops of which go above his knees, are shined and spotless. The final detail falls to the cravat around his neck, not including his hair, of course. He painstakingly arranges both, frowning at the bags beneath his eyes as he does. They are a reflection of the hours he has stayed up worrying at night, but unfortunately, nothing can be done about them. When he is certain everything is in order, he inhales through his nose and exhales through his mouth, trying to push any thoughts of his argument with Noctis aside.

 _I will apologize once everything is done_ , Ignis vows. With so much at stake, he believes that the end justifies the means. One day, Noctis and the others will understand, he is sure of it. At least, he hopes. He is accustomed to making decisions that no one else wants to. It is both a blessing and a curse.

“Mr. Scientia?” The soft-spoken interruption of his thoughts has Ignis turning towards his bedroom door where a bashful servant bows her head. “I knocked, sir, but—”

“My apologies.” Ignis turns, smiling disarmingly. She bows again and backs out quickly, grateful to not have to explain herself.

He takes one more deep breath before exiting the room, mentally preparing for what he knows is coming. Princess Lunafreya had been kind enough to warn him with a letter delivered discreetly under his door the day before.

_Ignis,_

_Ravus knows, and he plans to confront you._

_I apologize that we were unable to put all of the pieces of the plan in place prior to him finding out. I will do what I can to deter him._

_Your friend,_

_Luna_

Even if she didn’t tip him off, Ignis would have suspected as much when he received the sudden invitation to have breakfast with the Tenebraean prince in the palace courtyard. Ravus had all but ignored him since his arrival, not bothering to mask the disdain he held for the Lucian advisor. The prince would only arrange a meeting with him under dire circumstances.

Certainly, this seemed to qualify.

Even so, Ignis walks the white-marbled halls at his leisure, appreciating how much more open and airy the Tenebraean palace feels in comparison to the Citadel. It probably is due largely to the fact that there are more windows allowing for natural light, and that it is surrounded by lush gardens instead of skyscrapers and freeways. If not for the confrontation looming, he would spend more time admiring it.

 _Perhaps later._ If there _is_ a later, of course.

It isn’t long before Ignis finds himself on a stone walkway that leads to a small, circular courtyard, tall hedges providing privacy for the gazebo at the center of it. Ignis notes the guards posted along the path and how they stare blankly ahead as he passes, rapiers hanging from their hips.

Ravus Nox Fleuret is waiting for him, and he gets up when Ignis stops short of joining him at the table that has been set for two. The smell of coffee and Tenebraean cuisine rise to meet the advisor as he bows deeply.

“Your Highness.”

He waits for Ravus to speak as tradition commands, but the prince doesn’t. Ignis continues to hold the position awkwardly, listening to the birds chirping in a nearby tree and the bubbling of a fountain somewhere he cannot see.

Several seconds pass.

Ravus begins to make a slow circle around Ignis, and the advisor presses his hands tightly against his sides when the prince pauses behind him. It’s beginning to get uncomfortable to remain bent at the waist, but he fights every urge to straighten. If this is a game that Ravus wants to play, he is determined to win.

“Ignis,” Ravus finally says. The name is spoken snidely like it's beneath him to say out loud.

Anger reddens Ignis’s face as he finally rights himself, lips pressing together to keep from making a smart remark. He watches Ravus return to his seat and cross one leg over the other, but the prince doesn’t invite the advisor to sit, and so, he remains standing, digging through every ounce of professionalism he has to remain composed after the blatant insult.

“A little birdie told me something interesting about you.” Ravus takes a sip of coffee as Ignis clasps his hands behind him and waits with bated breath. “But I thought surely, the advisor to the Crown Prince of Lucis would never go behind my back to suggest anything so foolish. To attempt to use my sister, the _Oracle_ , like a whore for his own personal gain only so that he could validate his sorry excuse for a liege and his sexual appetites as _valid_.” The prince snorts even as Ignis’s jaw clenches. “That would be unheard of.” Ravus finally looks to the advisor then, eyes reflecting a dangerous intent. “One might even say it could be interpreted as a declaration of war.”

The silence that follows is tense, and Ignis can feel sweat breaking out under his collar. He has to think fast if he wants to keep his plan from completely falling apart, but if he doesn’t play his cards right, he will have bigger things to worry about.

“I never intended any disrespect towards Her Highness.” Ignis stops, seeing the way Ravus’s mouth turns down in disapproval. It dawns on the advisor that a fight is inevitable, and he is probably better off facing it head-on rather than dancing around it. “In fact, she was the one who suggested it.”

The declaration causes Ravus to slam his hand on the table, the cutlery rattling and the coffee sloshing in his cup. “Liar!” he hisses. As the prince reaches for the sword he always carries with him, Ignis takes a wary step back, barely refraining from summoning his daggers. White-knuckling his weapon’s hilt, Ravus lowers his voice to a dangerous level. “If you do not leave Tenebrae tonight, I will remove you forcibly, regardless of the consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

“Ravus,” Ignis snaps, dropping all illusion of propriety in his desperation. “If this does not happen, Luna and Noctis will _die_ , and the Niflheim Empire will destroy both Tenebrae and Lucis. Is _that_ what you want?”

“ _What_?!” Ravus is on his feet, sword unsheathed before Ignis can say anything more. He hears the guards behind him do the same and feels his stomach drop. Ignis knows that defending himself would be treason, but to not would mean death.

With grim resignation, he summons his daggers from the armiger and adopts a defensive stance. “Ravus, please, listen to me,” Ignis begs in a last-ditch effort to avoid conflict. “There is an ancient Lucian prophecy that—”

Ravus lunges, and all conversation is thrown to the wayside. Dancing out of reach, Ignis avoids the strong swing of his sword, eyes flitting to the guards who are dutifully waiting for the order to jump to their prince’s aid. He’s trying to decide what the best course of action would be as Ravus attacks again, this time with a roar of anguish that raises the hair on the advisor’s arms. When he blocks with his own blade, the force of the blow vibrates through him and causes him to stagger.

 _This will not end well_.

The realization dawns on him that the only suitable option is to flee, but he doubts that he will get far before the guards seize him, and he knows from the rage burning in the prince’s eyes that Ravus won’t be conceding the point any time soon even if he does manage to escape.

Ravus adjusts his stance as he takes a gasping breath, and Ignis prepares for the assault he knows is coming, this time resolving to deliver a counter-attack of his own.

The air feels like he’s inhaling water. Ravus’s jaw clenches and Ignis puts his weight into the balls of his feet. A bead of sweat trails down Ignis’s face, and he resists the urge to blink when it stings the corner of his eye, watching for the small movements that will tell him Ravus is about to strike—the clenching of his hands, the tensing of muscles.

“Stop!”

The commanding voice rings out from behind him, and although Ravus begrudgingly lowers his weapon, Ignis doesn’t do the same. Adrenaline has his arms locked in place, still expecting an attack that may come at any moment.

Guards bow their heads and salute in his periphery. Ignis hears mutters of ‘Your Highness’ as footsteps draw closer, but he’s more concerned with the thundering of his pulse in his ears.

Eventually, two delicate hands cover Ignis’s, gently guiding him to lower his daggers. Taking a ragged breath he feels all the fight go out of him as he finally tears his gaze away from Ravus to look at the woman at his side.

“Princess Lunafreya.” His voice is rough, sounding strange in his own ears.

Her smile is tinged with sadness, blue eyes pale in the morning sun. “Ignis, my friend.” It’s meant to be a comfort, a reassurance.

 _You’re safe now._ But he isn’t so sure.

“Lunafreya,” Ravus says tightly as if to remind them both that he is still there.

Ignis hasn’t forgotten.

They turn together, and Lunafreya lifts her head, poised and confident. For a woman so small, she commands an intimidating aura.

“Ravus, your anger towards our esteemed guest is unwarranted,” she claims. “The idea to serve as the surrogate for Prince Noctis’s children is mine, and mine alone.”

Something in the air shifts with her words, a strange expression flickering across Ravus’s face. It’s dangerous. _Insidious_ , even.

Ignis’s heart drops into his stomach, fearing the worst.

“Dear sister, I am sorry to hear that.” He lifts his hand casually, flicking it in their direction. “Guards, seize them.”

Ignis stares blankly ahead as they are immediately surrounded. He knows it is pointless to resist, but the princess doesn’t seem to share the same sentiments.

“ _What_? Ravus, what are you—unhand me!” She attempts to shake off a soldier who grabs her by the elbow. Ignis glares at Ravus, who is watching everything unfold from a distance, face unreadable.

“There’s no need for violence,” Ignis mutters, wincing as his arms are wrenched painfully behind him.

“Move,” the guard growls, shoving him forward. The advisor allows himself to be led away, listening to the demands of Lunafreya not far behind him. Birds continue to sing elsewhere in the garden, the juxtaposition of peace and panic jarring.

“Ravus, you are making a grave mistake!” she yells.

Ignis sends up a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening.

_Please, do not let Noctis hear of this. He may never forgive me._

He does not allow himself to pray for salvation, because that would mean admitting that he is in danger. That is a luxury he cannot afford.

* * *

“Hey, have you heard from Specs today?”

Gladio looks up from the book he’s reading, sprawled on the couch in only his underwear. He notes how Noctis won’t look at him directly, how he chews on the inside of his cheek. The prince is in sweatpants, which isn’t unusual even with it being past noon, but his eyes are bloodshot.

He hasn’t been sleeping, and that _is_ unusual. This is the man who will sleep through earthquakes and fire alarms.

 _Sleeping Beauty_ , Gladio often teases.

He shuts the book. It’s a trashy romance novel, one of his few guilty pleasures. Gladio’s just gotten to the part where the man sweeps the woman off her feet and confesses his love. Undoubtedly, a chapter full of sex will come next. The formula is predictable, but that’s what makes it so enjoyable. Nothing like real life.

“No, I haven’t.”

“He hasn’t called Prompto, either,” Noctis comments, trying so hard not to look worried. He’s worse than Prompto when it comes to hiding his emotions. Usually, Gladio isn’t the one to provide comfort, but with Ignis gone, _someone_ has to be the voice of reason. It might as well be him.

“Maybe he’s just busy. You know if Iggy said he’ll call, he will.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” But Noctis still doesn’t sound sure. He’s fidgeting, still determined to look everywhere but at Gladio.

“ _You_ could call him,” Gladio suggests with amusement, sitting up now to look at Noctis pointedly. The prince frowns, unhappy to have the responsibility volleyed back to him.

“Well, yeah, I _could_.” _But?_ Gladio waits, and eventually, Noctis sighs, then groans. “But, what if we fight again? What if I mess things up worse?”

“That’s inevitable,” Gladio snorts, then laughs when Noctis rolls his eyes and wanders over.

The prince plops into Gladio’s lap with another sigh. “You’re no help.”

Chuckling softly, Gladio runs a hand along his husband’s back, bumping his head against Noctis’s shoulder. He’s trying to think of something more encouraging to say when his phone vibrates on the coffee table. They both turn to look at the screen, hopeful that they summoned Ignis with their thoughts. They’re equally disappointed to see ‘Veronica Platt’ flash across it.

“Are you going to answer?” Noctis wonders, staring down at the phone like it might become a daemon at any moment.

“I don’t want to, but I probably should. Too bad Ignis isn’t here to do damage control.” Warily, Gladio picks the phone up, waiting for it to buzz one more time before hitting the answer button. “Hello?”

“Oh, Mr. Amicitia, I’m glad I could catch you,” Veronica’s sinfully sweet voice says through the speaker. Noctis mimes silently gagging as he slumps against Gladio’s chest to listen.

“What do you want, Veronica?” It comes out sharper than he intends, and he cringes when the reporter laughs in disbelief.

“My, _that_ didn’t take long. I just wanted to know if you had thought any more about my offer.” Gladio and Noctis exchange a glance. When he lifts his eyebrows in question, the prince merely shakes his head in warning.

Gladio opts for casual. “Not really. I’ve been busy.”

“Oh?” Her voice acquires an edge, all pretenses dropping. “Well, _I_ am getting impatient. If you don’t make a decision by tomorrow, I cannot be held responsible for what is leaked to the press.”

“Listen here you—” Noctis elbows Gladio hard, and he growls in pain before he corrects himself. “Listen here _lady_ , I can’t just pull a decision out of my ass when other people are involved. Cut me some slack!”

Veronica’s laugh is even more grating now. “Oh, of course, excuse me for being so inconsiderate.” Grinding his teeth to keep from cursing her outright, Gladio listens as the woman delivers her ultimatum. “Tomorrow, noon, Center City Park. _Don’t_ make me wait.”

She hangs up, her words ringing in Gladio’s ears as he throws the phone across the living room. It clatters and skids across the floor, thudding into the wall where it comes to rest.

“ _Fuck_ that bitch,” he yells.

“What’s wrong?” Prompto calls from upstairs. They hear his door opening as he steps into the hall to listen for an answer.

“Nothing—”

“Veronica _fucking_ Platt!” Gladio rages.

A moment later, Prompto is plodding down the steps wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt, the only one dressed for the day. He surveys Gladio and Noctis on the couch, their expressions at different ends of the same spectrum.

“She wants to meet tomorrow. We gotta call Specs and figure out our game plan.” Shifting out from under Noctis, Gladio stands and goes to retrieve his phone.

“Would this be a bad time to tell you I found something out about Veronica?” Prompto asks. Instantly, he has his husbands’ full attention.

“What is it?” The prince stands too, and they all convene in front of the couch, Gladio already dialing Ignis on his remarkably unharmed phone.

“Veronica is Luche’s sister. Apparently she was married once, which is why their last names are different. The guy died in Galahd in the war against the Empire.”

Shell-shocked, they stare at Prompto as Gladio’s phone call goes to voicemail.

_You have reached Ignis Scientia, advisor to His Royal Highness, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum. I cannot come to the phone right now, but please leave your name, number, and a brief message..._

“She’s his sister?” Suddenly, Noctis is queasy, a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Fuck me,” Gladio says quietly. He redials Ignis as they process the news amongst themselves. The call goes to voicemail again.

 _Must be in a meeting_ , Gladio thinks. Unfortunately, they don’t have much time to come up with a new plan.

“Looks like we gotta bring in the big guns,” the Shield declares. His face is ashen, and Noctis has a feeling he isn’t going to like what Gladio has to say.

Prompto’s eyebrows furrow quizzically. “What big guns?” he wonders.

“This is going to get out of hand if we don’t stop it, and it could affect a lot more than just us. We gotta take this to Regis.”

They turn towards the prince. Noctis’s knee-jerk reaction is to say, ‘hell no,’ but then he recalls his father’s words.

_You needn’t carry every burden alone, you know._

He knows that his father is right. It is only a matter of time before Noctis is crushed beneath the gravity of the situation. Becoming a king requires knowing how to pick your battles.

 _No more secrets_. It’s a promise he intends to keep.

“Alright.” Noctis takes a deep breath before looking at Gladio and Prompto in turn, both of them waiting for his decision, eager to jump into action. “Let’s go talk to dad.”


	7. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis & Co. turn for Regis for help only to learn some troubling news.
> 
> Gladio makes an important decision concerning how he will solve the problem of Veronica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After my last author update, many people expressed concern that I was burning out and not taking care of myself, and those people were right. 
> 
> So, I took all day to write this chapter for me. It was the most enjoyable day I've had in a long time, and the words flowed endlessly. 
> 
> I hope this was worth the wait <3 I'm going to try harder to balance project writing with personal writing so this doesn't happen again. Thanks for encouraging me!

When Noctis arrives at his father’s room with Gladio and Prompto, he gets the impression that Regis was expecting them. The two Kingsglaive posted at the door quickly step aside, holding the door open to allow him in without question, though they exchange nervous glances when his husbands follow.

The room is otherwise devoid of people, the curtains drawn tight to block out the midday sun, and it takes a moment for Noctis’s eyes to adjust when the doors swing shut. Once they do, he sees that his father is sitting up in bed with his hands folded over his lap, jaw set sternly in what he recognizes as his disapproving-dad face.

_Uh oh._

Noctis decides to test the waters, approaching the bed slowly. “Hey dad, how are you feeling?” He pulls up a chair to sit at the bedside, listening to Gladio and Prompto’s footsteps stop behind him.

“As well as can be expected, all things considered.”

_All things considered?_

He straightens up as Regis’s eyes cut over to him, racking his brain for anything outside the obvious that his father could be referring to, but nothing comes to mind.

“Prompto, Gladio, would you please afford me a moment alone with my son?” The king’s gaze flits over Noctis’s shoulders.

“Y-yes, sir—” “—course, Your Majesty.”

“ _No_.”

Everyone’s attention snaps back to Noctis with the single sharply spoken word.

“Whatever you have to say can be said in front of them.” It’s a stubborn resolve that Noctis isn’t known for, and it’s clear by the raising of Regis’s eyebrows that it comes as a surprise, though it is short-lived.

“...Very well. I had hoped you would come to see me sooner,” Regis begins with a sigh.

“I told you, I’ve been a little—”

The king raises a hand to stop him. “—busy? Yes, I am aware. And yet, there are some things that should not wait. Arranging to have an heir with the Oracle being one of them.”

 _Oh yeah, that_.

So maybe he should have talked to his father after his surprise announcement at the council meeting, but he had been waiting on the signal from Ignis to proceed. It only makes his recent radio silence all the more concerning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand, but I didn’t think you’d understand,” Noctis admits. He winces immediately after the words leave his mouth, realizing how bad they sound. What he wouldn’t give to have Ignis here to run interference for this conversation.

Regis’s eyes burn with a fervor Noctis only sees when he messes up royally—like the time he went skinny dipping with Prompto in the Center City Park fountain and got his picture taken by the paparazzi, or when Gladio got jumped protecting him at a bar, and the king’s words come out sharp despite his apparent exhaustion. “What I understand is that you made a rash, personal decision without considering the political implications.”

Noctis can’t believe what he’s hearing. “ _You’re_ the one who told me I needed to secure an heir. What did you expect me to do? Produce a baby out of thin air?”

“Of course not, Noctis,” Regis says with exasperation. “However, I do expect to be consulted when you are making decisions that impact the kingdom as a whole. May I remind you, you’re not king yet.”

Noctis bites his tongue, slumping back in his chair and crossing his arms. He’s sure he looks like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, but at the moment he doesn’t care. The conversation is going downhill fast and he hasn’t even had the chance to bring up Veronica yet, which isn’t going to make the situation any better.

 _No more secrets,_ he reminds himself. _Nothing’s going to be resolved if I don’t ask for help._

“Yeah, okay,” he takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry.” Regis nods, leaning back against the headboard. “So, uh, speaking of decisions that impact the kingdom as a whole…”

Regis frowns heavily. “...yes?”

Noctis struggles to find the right words to explain the situation they’re in. He resists the urge to turn to Gladio or Prompto for help, wringing his hands as he thinks.

“Noctis?” the king prods, curious. “What is it?”

“Uh, well…”

 _‘So, uh, last year Gladio beat one of the Glaive within an inch of his life and now his sister is blackmailing us for revenge, think you can help?_ ’ doesn’t seem like the best way to broach the subject, but what other options are there?

Gladio clears his throat to interject. “It’s me, sir.”

Turning, Noctis sees Gladio step forward and bow hastily.

“Gladio…” But Gladio isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at the king.

“Last year, I assaulted Luche, a member of the Glaive. It was a decision I made in anger, and it was a stupid one that I regret. To save me from punishment, money changed hands and threats were made. Because of that, his family holds a grudge against me, and now his sister is trying to blackmail us.”

“Us?” Stunned, Regis directs the question at Noctis. “Noctis, how long have you known of this? And what, pray tell, are her demands for retribution?”

Noctis gapes, scooting to the edge of his seat as he tries to salvage what’s left of his father’s favor. “That’s—it’s not—”

“He wasn’t made aware of the bribery until now, Your Majesty. Please, don’t hold it against him.” It’s Noctis’s turn to be surprised, and he shoots Gladio a look out of the corner of his eye. He vaguely registers the sound of Prompto’s anxious fidgeting, the tapping of boots on the marbled floor.

_What are you doing, Gladio? We agreed. This wasn’t the plan._

“I see.” Slowly, Regis pushes himself to the edge of the bed, throwing the covers back so he can place his feet on the floor. Before anyone can stop him, he gets up, trembling from the effort. “And I imagine you have a plan to rectify this mistake, Gladio?”

“I do.” Gladio bows, and Noctis can see everything begin to unfold in slow motion, much to his horror. “I will step down as Shield and turn myself in to serve my sentence. It’s what I should have done months ago, and it’s the only way to make sure Noctis gets out of it with his reputation intact. ”

A startled gasp emits from Prompto, but Noctis makes no sound, a flood of emotion rendering him at a loss for words.

_This isn’t happening._

“Are you certain?” Regis asks gently, making no attempt to dissuade him.

_This is all a bad dream._

“Yes, sir. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”

_Wake up. Please, wake up._

“Gladio, please, think about this,” begs Prompto, breath hitching, and it’s enough to solidify the event in Noctis’s mind.

_Oh gods, this is real. This is actually happening._

In the midst of his panic, Noctis hears his father speak again. “I must admit, this is rather unexpected. I thought the conversation would be concerning Ignis.”

“Ignis?” the three echo in unison.

“You’ve heard from Ignis?” Now Noctis is on his feet, and he reaches out to take his father by the shoulders as Gladio and Prompto join him at his side. “Wait, did something happen? Is he okay?”

Regis frown returns, more severe and ominous than before. “You...weren’t made aware of the situation?”

The realization slowly dawns on him when the king doesn’t elaborate right away that there can only be one answer. “Dad, what happened?” Unknowingly, Noctis’s hands tighten, and a flicker of pain crosses Regis’s face.

“Noct, easy buddy.” Prompto reaches out, but Noctis shrugs his hand away.

“You made a serious blunder, but I am confident we can still salvage our relationship with Tenebrae so long as we act rationally.”

For some reason, his father’s even tone only serves to enrage him further. “Just tell me where he is already!”

“ _Noct_ , calm down and let him talk!” growls Gladio, and suddenly a strong arm is pulling the prince backwards. This time, Noctis isn’t able to shrug the hand away, and he is trapped by Gladio’s awkward half-embrace as he fights against it in vain.

“Ignis is being held as a prisoner of Ravus Nox Fleuret—” Regis says, and Noctis stops trying to escape Gladio’s grip to stare at his father in disbelief, “—and demands that you abandon your plan to use Princess Lunafreya as a surrogate for your heir. Otherwise, you will be required to marry her.”

“M-marry her?” Prompto squeaks.

“I seriously doubt the Tenebraean council will be down for that, I’m already married,” Noctis points out. “ _Happily._ ”

“Not in the eyes of Insomnian law.” The words hit too close for comfort.

Noctis feels Gladio’s arm flex around his waist and knows that for once they are on the same page; they don’t need a stupid law to tell them what they already know.

“Gladio, settle your debts with Luche’s family as soon as possible. Noctis, Prompto, get some rest. Tomorrow, you will accompany a diplomatic envoy to Tenebrae.

“Don’t we get a say in any of this?” Noctis demands. Bitterness chokes him, making the words fall flat.

Without wavering, Regis shakes his head. His body language communicates that he is still the king, regardless of the oversized nightgown he is currently wearing. “You’ve had your say, my son. Now is the time for you to listen—and obey.”

* * *

No one is hungry for dinner. Ignis would never allow them to skip a meal to sulk, but Ignis isn’t there. _That_ is painfully apparent, their conversation with Regis still fresh in their minds.

Noctis and Prompto should pack, but they have no motivation to. They’ll put it off until the last second—another thing Ignis never would have allowed.

Ignis also wouldn’t have ever let the situation get this bad. They all share the same thought: _I never should have let him go to Tenebrae_.

Somehow the three of them all gravitate naturally to the living room. No one wants to go into the kitchen. It smacks of Ignis. The same can be said of the bedroom. He’s the reason they have framed art and pictures on the wall, and matching monogrammed towels. The living room is the only place untouched by his influence, though not for lack of trying.

It’s the place where everyone dumps their stuff to pick up ‘later’, because it’s the closest to the door, and therefore always messy (much to Ignis’s chagrin). Since Noctis and Prompto insist on using it for video games and movie nights, any work Ignis does to ‘make it presentable’ is reversed as quickly as it is completed, developing into a vicious and never ending cycle. The day Ignis realized it was a lost cause was the day he began draping his bathrobe over one of the reclining chairs, and from then on he never chastised anyone for leaving socks or shoes or any other assortment of personal belongings on the couch.

It’s the only noticeable victory any of them have ever had over Ignis, and they regularly tease him about it, even though they know that he could change his mind at any time. Like everything Ignis does, it’s a carefully calculated move. There’s a method to his madness, even if it’s not explicitly stated.

Noctis plops down in the chair Ignis usually sits in on the nights he stays up late answering emails, shoving his robe off the back of the chair and out of sight. He glares up at the ceiling, ignoring the dossier on the coffee table that his father gave him before leaving the Citadel. He wants to avoid reality for just a little longer.

Gladio is taking up all the available space on their couch. Usually, Prompto would flop right on top of him and they would banter back and forth about being ‘too big for this’ and ‘getting off’ until their flirting turned into loud and sloppy make-outs, but not today. Today, Prompto lays on the floor next to the coffee table, completing their triangle of misery.

The room is oppressive, the knowledge of everything to come, and the uncertainty of the future weighing down on them. Noctis begins to count revolutions of the ceiling fan, trying to distract himself from his own thoughts and the tight feeling in his gut, but it doesn’t help. He comes to the conclusion that nothing is going to help him now.

“You don’t have to turn yourself in. We can find another way,” Noctis blurts after fifty-odd turns of the fan’s blades.

Gladio grunts as Prompto rolls onto his belly and props his head in his hands.

“I’ve made my decision, Noct. This is the easiest way out of it.”

“Easiest doesn’t mean best,” Noctis grumbles.

“Maybe Noct is right. There could be another way.” There’s hope in Prompto’s voice, and it’s like sunshine breaking through clouds. For what it’s worth, Noctis appreciates the show of solidarity.

“I’m not trying anything with you two leaving tomorrow, alright? It’s too risky.” The statement is like that first rumble of thunder as the sky darkens. For most people, it means it’s time to go inside and take shelter. _Most_ people _._

Prompto sits up to place his elbows on the coffee table, facing Gladio’s direction.

“Okay, but just hear me out, alright? I can check the video footage from today and see—”

“I said _no_ , Prompto.”

 _Rumble, rumble_.

“—if there’s anything new, and maybe I can find—”

“Prompto.” An annoyed huff follows.

_Rumble, rumble, rumble._

“—something we can use against her because there’s bound to be—”

“Prompto! _” Crack_ — “I said _no_!” — _boom!_

Noctis holds his breath, electricity running through him that causes his hair to stand on end. Prompto is drumming his fingers on the coffee table, head hanging low as Gladio covers his face with one hand.

“Sorry.” Gladio exhales noisily. “Sorry, Prompto, I—”

“No, it’s cool.” Prompto stands abruptly, throwing on a fake smile as he backs away. “We’re all stressed. I get it, big guy. I, uh, I’m just gonna go upstairs and chill, alright?” He’s heading for the stairs before Gladio can fully sit up, and is gone by the time he does.

“Prompto,” Gladio calls after him weakly but ultimately lets him go. He looks at Noctis, who throws his hands up as if to say ‘don’t look at me!’

Internally, Noctis knows that Gladio can just as quickly take his anger out on him if he feels so inclined, and he braces for the second strike of lightning, but it never comes. Instead, Gladio throws his head back and groans, dragging it out longer than necessary.

A smile tugs at the corner of Noctis’s mouth, and he gets up, wandering over to slot into the space between Gladio and the armrest.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“That’s inevitable.” Noctis makes sure Gladio knows he’s teasing by pressing into his side, nuzzling beneath his stubbled jaw.

“Huh, that sounds familiar.” He nudges Noctis with his chin, chuckling.

“I learned from the best.” It’s his best attempt at levity. Usually, it’s Prompto’s job to lighten the mood, but Gladio laughs anyway, slinging an arm around Noctis’s shoulders and pulling him against his chest.

They sit there for a moment, not saying anything, both of their minds going a thousand miles per hour. There’s so much to say, and no words will suffice, but _damnit_ , Noctis knows he is going to try.

“I love you, and I’m going to fix this,” he vows, and he means it with every fiber of his being. Gladio leans back just enough to see Noctis’s face, arching an eyebrow.

“Wow.”

“Wow, what?” Noctis asks, already defensive. But rather than ridiculing him, Gladio softens, planting a kiss to Noctis’s forehead in quiet thanks.

“You kinda sounded like a king right then.”

Closing his eyes, Noctis clings to Gladio, swallowing hard.

“Don’t get used to it.”

* * *

Noctis doesn’t remember falling asleep on the couch, so when he is shaken awake by Prompto he is seized by the panic that post-nap disorientation often brings, somehow believing he missed Gladio leaving to meet Veronica, or that he overslept and should be in Tenebrae.

“Wha—what time is it?” He flails, almost knocking Prompto over as he claws his way upright, heart pounding.

“Shh, it’s almost midnight, and Gladio just fell asleep. Listen, I know what he said, but I had to try, and I think I might have found something.” Prompto’s eyes are wide and excited even in the dark, and Noctis allows himself to hope against all odds.

“Show me.” He runs a hand through his hair before reaching for the shoes he kicked off in his sleep, tugging them on as Prompto whips out his phone.

“Okay, so I noticed this today, look—” Prompto holds it out and presses play, the two of them watching the recording together. As the seconds tick by, Noctis’s hands slow until he is no longer trying his shoelaces, but staring at the screen slack-jawed, amazed by what he is seeing. “What do you think?” Prompto wonders as the clip comes to an end.

“I think,” Noctis finishes lacing up his boots hurriedly before grabbing Prompto by the arm and tugging him towards the door, “we would be stupid not to try.”

They make sure to close the door quietly behind them. Gladio is none the wiser.


	8. Desperate Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis learns of Ravus's intentions.
> 
> Prompto and Noctis make a last-ditch effort to save Gladio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit, two chapters in one week? Guess this is to make up for lost time.

Ignis stares down into his teacup, thumbing over the delicate porcelain rim. There is a sheen of gold along it that contrasts sharply with the reddish liquid inside it, indigo sylleblossoms dancing beneath the metallic accent. When he lifts the drink to his lips, he realizes it is lukewarm, a product of his ruminating having run long. Swallowing the meager sip, he sets the cup down with a clink on the small rounded table and pushes it away, gaze instead lifting up and out the nearest window.

Sunshine, warm and inviting on the cool tile of the room, almost makes him forget his current situation, but a crossing of his legs leads to a rattle of metal, and the ‘situation’ in question rises to the forefront of his mind.

A heavy manacle secures Ignis to the frame of the bed behind him by the ankle, its chain long enough for him to move freely about the room and no further. He feels the precaution is overkill considering that Ravus also has posted guards at every door, but knows better than to say so. As far as imprisonment goes, Ignis knows it could be much, much worse. He’s afforded his privacy, three meals a day, and is able to shower and dress unchained. The attendants who bring his food could opt to tease or torment him, but they are respectful, though prone to gossip.

Conversation meant to be whispered echoes throughout grandiose living quarters, which is how he learns that word of his detainment has reached Insomnia.

“King Regis is sending an envoy tomorrow.”

“An envoy? You mean, he’s not coming himself?”

“They say his health is failing him. They’re sending Prince Noctis instead.”

“ _Oh_ , I’m sure His Highness will be thrilled.”

As Ignis spreads clotted cream on his biscuit he wonders how Noctis and the others reacted to the news. He imagines it must have come as a surprise, seeing as he is regularly considered the most rational and careful of their group. He can hear them now, _see_ them, in his mind’s eye...

_“What the hell were you thinking, Specs?” Gladio’s face, caught between righteous anger and concern, makes Ignis chew the inside of his cheek. Despite his knee jerk inclination to be defensive, he will let him vent before explaining himself. It’s the safer option._

_Prompto looks paler than usual, eyes glossy with unshed tears, relief near overwhelming. “I never doubted you for a second. Okay, maybe one second, but I swear it was only the one!” They swap jokes (“You really like to keep us on our toes.” “And you are en pointe as usual, darling.”) and Ignis pulls him into a firm embrace, a reminder for both of them that there’s nothing to fear._

_Then, there’s Noctis. He lingers in the doorway, hands tucked into armpits, chin jutted out. His entire body is one big ‘warning’ sign, no doubt unable to decide whether he is more happy than he is upset by what could have been an absolute nightmare. Ignis lets Prompto and Gladio have their say, but his eyes flit back to Noctis often, scanning him for any sign that his mood might change._

_The signal comes somewhere between Prompto’s cajoling and Gladio’s resignation, when Ignis has a hand pressed into the former’s low back and an arm around the latter’s waist. It’s subtle, easily missed by the untrained eye. It begins with a slipping of Noctis’s hands into his jacket pockets, followed by a shift in body weight, stance opening. His head tilts to one side, no longer in a rigid line. He joins them at last with a smile from Ignis, completing their circle. Gladio makes a smartass remark: “Took you long enough,” but Ignis lets it slide, bringing their foreheads to touch._

_“Ignis…”_

_Ignis closes his eyes. “I know. I hope you can forgive me.”_

The daydream is interrupted by a bang that abruptly silences the chatter of the attendants. Hastily, they jump back and slink away from the door that has been thrown open, bowing at the waist as Ravus Nox Fleuret sweeps into the room, white coat billowing behind him.

After a beat of hesitation, Ignis sets down his butter knife and biscuit reluctantly, chair screeching as he scoots back from the table to stand.

“Your Highness.” He tries to keep any venom out of his voice, but Ravus’s eyes narrow all the same. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

“False modesty doesn’t suit you, Scientia.” Ignoring the attempt to rile him, Ignis abandons a bow as Ravus snatches the chair he was just sitting in for himself.

 _He will have to do better than that if he wants to get under my skin_.

Out of necessity Ignis remains standing, clasping his hands behind him and stretching his pin-striped button down over his chest in the process.

“Noctis will be here tomorrow, no doubt with the intent of rescuing you,” Ravus sneers. His hand comes to rest on the hilt of his sword and Ignis notes the unspoken threat.

“Your quarrel isn’t with me.” _Don’t shoot the messenger._

“Oh?” Ravus reclines in the chair, an arm draping over the back of it, but despite the feigned nonchalance, Ignis can’t help but imagine a rattlesnake shaking its tail in warning. “Are you saying that you acted on your own without the royal family’s permission? Or that you are not responsible for your _husband’s_ actions? Oh, that’s right! _Now_ I remember. Your marriage has no legal ground on which to stand. Two grown men playing house!” he laughs, and Ignis’s fists clench, eyes narrowing. “And here I thought you were the _brains_ of the operation. Clearly I was wrong.”

The words needle, poking at sore spots. Without intending to, Ignis’s gaze falls to the butter knife on the table between him and Ravus. While his daggers were confiscated when the guards apprehended him, he knows that the butter knife could still deliver a good amount of damage if wielded by the right person, and he briefly imagines what it would feel like to teach Ravus a lesson with it.

Unfortunately, he also knows all too well that he cannot rise to Ravus’s bait, as it is exactly what he wants.

_Another time, perhaps._

Swallowing his pride, Ignis vows to do whatever he has to in order to escape unscathed. “Forgive me if I have offended you, Your Highness, but I believe a conversation with the Oracle is needed to clear up the misunderstanding between us. If you would be so kind as to—”

“She told me about the so-called prophecy,” Ravus interrupts, effectively silencing him. “That Noctis is the ‘Chosen King.’ That the line of Lucis will perish with him unless she does something to stop it. That tying her divine calling as the Oracle with _his_ magic is the only way to save him and King Regis.” He stops, shaking his head before looking away, and if Ignis didn’t know better, he would think that Ravus was trying not to cry. “I will not stand for it.”

“Why not? Is it such a crime for her to help him?” Ignis demands, forgoing his usually calculated rhetoric in an attempt to appeal to Ravus’s inner humanity—if in fact he has any to speak of.

A scoff is Ravus’s immediate reaction, and he angles his body away as Ignis waits, an answer not forthcoming. It is only quiet for a span of a few seconds, but to Ignis it feels like an eternity. The butter knife is looking more and more tempting.

“Do you have any siblings, Scientia?” Ravus finally asks. It’s a non-answer, and a frustrating one at that.

Slowly, Ignis shakes his head. “No, I do not.”

“Then I couldn’t expect you to understand.” Abruptly, Ravus stands, and the movement draws the attention of the two attendants who are leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. They stiffen, awaiting orders, and Ignis does the same, mentally preparing himself for anything. “As her brother, it is my job to protect her.”

After that, he makes a bee-line for the door, and Ignis’s heart sinks from the weight of his disappointment. The thought is fleeting, but in-between the space of the turning doorknob and the creaking of hinges, he is desperate enough to speak it aloud.

“I may not have any siblings—” Ravus glances over his shoulder curiously, “—but I know what it is like to love someone enough that you would do anything to protect them.” Ignis swallows hard, thinking that he may have crossed a line, for Ravus’s hands slips from the doorknob as he turns around and both attendants wince, yet Ignis holds his ground.

There are some things worth fighting for, and this is one of them.

“Then,” Ravus’s smile is quick as a whip, and just as sharp, “you understand that you will not leave here until I achieve my goal.”

Ignis’s fingers twitch as he takes a step towards the table. One move and the butter knife will be in his grasp. Another, and he will send Lucis to war. The temptation is almost too strong to resist, but then Ravus turns away again, and Ignis regains his senses.

_No. Have faith in Noct._

The door shuts.

Ignis exhales, retrieving the chair Ravus stole.

The attendants continue their idle gossip.

Sitting, Ignis picks up his biscuit and takes one bite of it before realizing—he is no longer hungry.

* * *

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

Noctis would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. Prompto is driving them to their destination, which isn’t even the most concerning part. No, the most concerning part is _where_ they are driving. Prompto swears up and down that the address he has for Veronica is correct, but the farther they get away from downtown Insomnia, the more anxious Noctis becomes.

Why would someone like Veronica live _here_?

Wherever _here_ is, the buildings are surrounded by barbed wire fences, and shop fronts have bars in their windows. At a stoplight, Noctis sees a group of men gathered together on the corner, and they stare in his direction, their haunted expressions readable even through a haze of cigarette smoke and the glow from the lonely street lamp flickering overhead. _Are you lost?_ they seem to say, and Noctis slumps down in his seat and keeps his eyes forward until the light turns green.

Even in the dark, the Regalia sticks out like a sore thumb, its sleek and shiny exterior at odds with the rundown and rusted cars they happen to pass. They couldn’t hope to draw more attention to themselves even if they had giant neon signs pointing to them.

 _Maybe this was a bad idea,_ Noctis thinks, but then he remembers what is at stake and he pushes his doubts to the back of his mind. _Suck it up and do it for Gladio_.

“This is it,” Prompto announces a split second after the GPS on his phone announces their arrival. He pulls into an empty parking lot in front of what appears to be an apartment building. As he shuts the ignition off, they can hear dogs barking somewhere nearby, and something that could either be a car backfiring or a gunshot.

They exchange looks, and Noctis voices what they’re both thinking. “Let’s do this quick.”

“Yup.”

Together, they climb out of the car, the delayed beep from the doors auto-locking making them duck and look around like it may have caused daemons to materialize from the shadows. Fortunately (or unfortunately), they are still the only living things in sight, but it doesn’t keep them from sprinting across the vacant lot to reach the safety of the building’s breezeway.

“Which one is it again?” Noctis is not sure why he is whispering, but Prompto whispers back, which makes him feel marginally better.

“Uh…” Prompto checks the address on his phone. “311.”

They tip-toe up a metal staircase that has seen better days, each of them holding tight to the railing with one hand like it might give way at any moment. It doesn’t take long to find Veronica’s door. It’s just past a graveyard of cigarette buts on the landing at the end of the hall, painted a lonely faded red, the number three hanging upside-down thanks to having one screw missing.

“Maybe we should call first?” Prompto suggests, balking in front of it. It’s past midnight now, and any sensible person would be asleep.

“Yeah, good idea.” Noctis stares expectantly at Prompto. Predictably, he isn’t thrilled by the idea.

“You want _me_ to do it?”

“Who else?”

“ _Noct!_ ” Prompto actually stamps his foot, and if it weren’t for the sensitive nature of the situation, Noctis would have laughed.

“Shh, keep your voice down. Come on, Prompto, hurry up.”

The staredown spans three rapid heartbeats before Prompto caves in with sigh. Glaring down at his phone he scrolls through a text message thread to find Veronica’s number, then punches it in while Noctis looks left and right, scanning the hall.

They wait as the phone rings, caught between wanting her to pick up and praying she doesn’t. Eventually, there is a subtle click, and they hear Veronica’s voice come through the speaker.

“ _Hello, you have reached Veronica Platt. I cannot come to the phone right now_ —”

Prompto hangs up, shoulders sagging. “So. What now?”

There are only two options: knock, or leave. And Noctis knows they didn’t come all this way to turn back now, so he gathers his courage, steps forward, and lifts a fist, poising it to knock when suddenly, they hear a deadbolt sliding back.

Prompto grabs Noctis by the arm with a gasp, freezing as the door opens a crack. There is a rattle as the chain on the inside of the door pulls tight, and they glimpse one ice blue eye squint at them from the darkness behind it.

“Prince Noctis?” a credulous voice, husky from interrupted sleep, floats out to them. Noctis is relieved to find it belongs to Veronica after all, watching as she removes the chain and opens the door wide enough to reveal the rest of her.

It hits him then that he has never seen Veronica in anything less than a full face of makeup and a pencil skirt, her baggy sweat pants and plain white tee a far cry from that, but of course, what did they expect at this hour of the night. Blonde hair, frizzy from sleep, is tied up into a haphazard bun, momentarily distracting him from what she is holding in her right hand.

“You know how to use that?” Prompto asks conversationally, gesturing to the metal bat.

Veronica arches an eyebrow, unamused. “You wanna find out, blondie?” That shuts him up quick. “What the hell are you two doing here? How did you find out where I live?”

“We can’t let Gladio go to jail,” Prompto blurts. Veronica’s arched eyebrow joins the other in flipping into a downward slant.

“ _That_ ’ _s_ what you came here to say? Good night, gentlemen.” She starts to close the door, but Noctis is faster, slamming his hand against it to force it back open.

“We know about your girlfriend,” he says, cutting to the chase.

Veronica steps back, irritation draining from her face only to be replaced by a cold rage. “Excuse me?” she snaps.

“We saw her in your office. On a surveillance video—we, um, sorta spied on you, sorry—” Prompto wrings his hands, losing his resolve beneath Veronica’s steely glare.

“You need to leave, _now_.” Her grip on the bat tightens, and Noctis doesn’t doubt for a second that she will use it.

“Not until you listen to what we have to say.” Seeing that her expression doesn’t change, Noctis adds for good measure: “Please.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Two minutes.”

Noctis is thankful that he spent the care ride over preparing for this exact moment, and Ignis’s advice replays in his head.

_Head up, shoulders back. Look them in the eye—smile, but don’t be too friendly. Just enough to have them drop their guard. But most importantly, remember that you are the Prince of Lucis. When you become king they will serve you, not the other way around._

_Head up, shoulders back_. “Your brother said some pretty awful things about us,” he begins. Veronica crosses her arms, bat resting on her shoulder menacingly as he goes on. “And that isn’t an excuse for what Gladio did, okay? We know that it was a mistake, a _big_ one. He knows that too, but I just don’t get it _...” Look them in the eye._ His gaze levels with hers, and he feels his nerves settle. “Why would you protect him and your family when they don’t accept you? We’re sorry, Veronica. We’re sorry for the pain we caused you without meaning to, but this? This isn’t going to make anything better.” _Smile, but don’t be too friendly._ “You know...we don’t have to be enemies in this. It’s not too late for us to help each other.”

“Yeah, we’re on the same team here!” Prompto chimes in.

Noctis does his best to smile, and Veronica lets her arms fall back to her sides. She hesitates, looking between him and Prompto as she bites her lip, and Noctis’s heart leaps in his chest, hopeful, but then a soft voice calls out from somewhere inside the apartment.

“V? Babe, is everything alright?”

It’s musical and feminine, definitely a woman's voice, and it’s enough of a confirmation that Noctis and Prompto dare to look vindicated.

Like flipping a switch, Veronica’s entire demeanor changes, whatever chance she may have entertained their offer vanishing behind a mask of indifference.

“Time’s up. Good night, boys.”

Before Noctis or Prompto have a chance to beg otherwise, Veronica slams the door in their faces, followed by the tell-tale sound of the chain and deadbolt sliding back into place. Dejected, Noctis hangs his head.

 _So much for that_.

With his hopes dashed, and no other options left, Noctis turns to take the walk of shame back to the car, only belatedly realizing that Prompto isn’t following.

“Come on, Prompto,” he says, now thoroughly exhausted, but Prompto continues to face Veronica’s door, shoulders bunched and fists clenched.

“I know you’re afraid,” Prompto all but shouts, and Noctis scrambles back to his side in a panic to grab him by the arm, yanking insistently.

“Prompto, come on!” But his hissed order goes unheeded as Prompto raises his voice further.

“We were too at first. It’s scary. We know that better than anyone. _Please_ , Veronica, we don’t want to be enemies!” Noctis tugs harder, but Prompto digs his heels in, thudding his head against Veronica’s door as his breath hitches. “ _Please_ , I’m begging you. Don’t take Gladio away from us. How would you feel if someone took her away from you?”

Noctis loosens his grip, helpless in the wake of Prompto’s desperation. His eyes fall to the ground as he takes a ragged inhale, trying to keep it together if only for Prompto’s sake.

It hurts knowing he failed to protect someone close to him _—again_.

_How many more times will I let them down?_

“Come on,” Noctis murmurs a third time, tugging gently now. To his relief, Prompto lets Noctis lead him away, and they turn towards the stairs, arms hooked around each other.

They make it halfway down the hall until the groan of a door opening gives them a reason to pause.

In unison, they glance back, surprised to find Veronica standing in the hall, sans bat.

She isn’t smiling, but she’s not frowning either, and she throws her hands up in exasperation when they stare at her blankly.

“Well, are you going to stand there, or are you going to come inside?”

“Wait _—_ seriously?” Prompto asks, perking up.

“Hurry up before I change my mind.”

When she turns to walk back into her apartment, Prompto and Noctis trip over themselves in their rush to follow.


	9. Putting On Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto and Noctis find out more about Veronica. 
> 
> Next step: Rescue Ignis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WOW AN ACTUAL CHAPTER AND NOT AN AUTHOR UPDATE? 
> 
> (Thanks for your patience, y'all!)

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Veronica offers as Prompto and Noctis get situated on the couch in the living room. Other than a beat up coffee table in front of it, the couch is the only piece of furniture. Both have seen better days; the coffee table is stained with moisture rings, scratches worn into its cheap faux-wood surface, while the couch is an ugly faded gray—or maybe navy blue, it’s hard to tell—cushions sagging from previous users.

“No, thank you,” Noctis says politely despite his impatience to get the conversation started.

Prompto follows up with: “Water? If it’s not too much trouble,” and Veronica shuffles into what barely qualifies as a kitchen, hardly big enough to fit two people comfortably standing side-by-side.

“V?” someone calls out the moment the sink’s faucet cuts on, and everyone goes quiet, listening to the frantic footsteps that approach from an adjacent room.

As Veronica steps out of the kitchen with a glass in hand, another woman enters the room through a door behind the couch. Prompto and Noctis turn in unison to watch her come to a stuttered stop, her eyes pale blue in the shadows of the room first widening, then narrowing with suspicion.

“What are _they_ doing here?” she snarls like a daemon, raising the hair on the back of the men’s necks.

“Go back to bed,” Veronica says tightly in response, but the woman doesn’t budge, tugging down the oversized shirt she is wearing as a nightgown before crossing her arms over her flat chest.

“Hi, sorry to wake you,” Prompto begins awkwardly. “We’re here to see Veronica.”

“Yeah, no shit.” She tilts her head, short, jet black hair unable to shield her glare from view, and Prompto gulps, sinking down into the sofa.

“Faye, this is His Highness, Noctis Lucis Caelum,” Veronica gestures to Noctis, then to Prompto, “and one of his husbands, Prompto Argentum. Gentlemen, this is my partner, Faye.”

In one last attempt to be friendly, Prompto wriggles his fingers into a semblance of a wave, but Faye has zeroed in on Veronica.

“I know who they are. What are they doing here, V?”

“We just came to talk,” Noctis explains, doing his best to sit up straight and not fidget when Faye’s gaze bores into him with the strength of the midday sun.

“And does this ‘talk’ include an apology, Your Highness?” she sneers, hands falling to the jagged hips hidden beneath her t-shirt.

“ _Faye_ , that’s enough.”

There is an uncomfortable silence that Noctis knows better than to disturb, invisible electricity snapping between Faye and Veronica, and he and Prompto wait until Faye finally turns towards the same room she came from, casting an angry look in their direction before disappearing into the dark.

Somehow, the slamming bedroom door manages to sound like a threat, and Veronica exhales forcefully, rubbing at one temple with her free hand.

“What the hell, Veronica?” The words hiss out, and Noctis deliberately ignores Prompto’s attempt to sweep away any awkwardness with an apology on his behalf. “How can you live with yourself considering—” Noctis’s eyes jump to the closed door and Veronica graciously fills in the blank.

“Considering how my brother acts towards people like _us_?”

Noctis nods, jaw clenching, and Prompto pulls his feet up to sit cross-legged as if he wants nothing more than to sink into the couch and disappear. They watch Veronica approach to set the glass of water on the coffee table, motionless despite a sudden spike of adrenaline.

She hesitates briefly before sinking to her knees beside the table, resting her head on folded arms. Noctis has never seen her like this. Exhaustion seems to seep from her every pore, a look of defeat on her face as plain as day.

Veronica turns her head slowly, letting her chin dig into the coffee table. “You see where I live, don’t you?” She laughs, and the sound is like broken glass, sharp and uneven. “The only reason I have even survived this long is by doing what my family tells me.”

“What do you mean?” Prompto asks, taking the water and gulping it down.

Veronica waits for Prompto to finish swallowing before giving her answer. “If we’re being honest, I’d be happy to let my brother rot in prison, but he’s the only source of income I have right now.”

Noctis’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t comment, mesmerized by Veronica as she begins to trace the scratches on the surface of the coffee table with one finger.

“You see, my parents always favored him, and once they found out about my ‘deviant nature,’ as they called it, they were set to disown me entirely. And they would have if not for the deal I struck with them.”

“What deal?” Prompto echoes. He is watching Veronica now too, the sound of her fingernail scraping the shoddy furniture oddly soothing.

“I told them that if they continued paying my expenses, I would keep my personal life out of the public eye and use my position to get my brother out of prison. Of course, they agreed, and I used my measly salary to bribe every person I could, from council members to common guards, trying to find a way to get him out. I was willing to do anything, just to stay alive—and I did. Anything and everything.” Her eyes flit up from beneath golden lashes, hard as emeralds, her smile cold. Noctis barely suppresses a shiver. “But I wasn’t getting anywhere, and the longer it took, the more impatient my parents became, until they gave me a different ultimatum: revenge.”

Noctis’s stomach clenches with the realization. “...Gladio.”

“That’s right,” she straightens at last, placing her hands in her lap, “and if he didn’t end up in prison or worse, they would cut off _all_ support. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Veronica lifts her chin, the picture of prim and proper disdain, but her facade is shattered, and through its cracks, Noctis sees what he had been missing all along: fear.

“No,” Noctis murmurs, shaking his head. “That’s not it.” Veronica goes still with the rebuttal, eyes narrowing dangerously. “You’re a coward.”

“Noct,” Prompto whines in warning, but Noctis presses on.

“You could have chosen a different path—stood up for yourself—but instead you took the easy way out. You _chose_ to hurt people, people like us—”

“I would have ended up homeless,” she declares. Her eyes shimmer with rage. “Or worse. _Both_ of us. I was protecting myself and _my_ family, and I will never apologize for that.”

Noctis stares, feeling his rage pop and fizzle into something more recognizable: pity. How many times had he used that exact reasoning to justify his actions in the past? How many times had Gladio, or Ignis? How many people had _they_ hurt, knowingly or unknowingly?

And when would the cycle stop?

“Why didn’t you just ask for help? Or try to live on your own? What about your job at _Insomnia Now_?” Noctis wonders, grasping for answers.

Veronica’s laugh stings of bitterness. “Seriously, Your Highness? Is everything really so simple in your perfect world?”

“It hasn’t been simple for us,” says Prompto abruptly, and Noctis looks at him, surprised by the outburst. His fists are balled in his lap, eyes now trained on the ring of moisture that lingers on the coffee table from his water glass. “Just because our problems are different from yours, doesn’t mean we don’t understand where you’re coming from. It doesn’t mean we don’t _care_.”

“Prompto…” Noctis places a hand on Prompto’s forearm and squeezes. Finally, Prompto lifts his head, determination reflected in his eyes.

“We don’t want to be enemies. All we’ve ever wanted is to live together peacefully. _All_ of us. You don’t have to do this anymore.”

Veronica snorts, but her frown is smoothing into a tentatively hopeful expression. It gives Noctis the strength he desperately needs to keep going. She may not be a friend, but he hopes that she will agree not to be an enemy, at least for the time being.

“What exactly are you two proposing?” she asks, sitting back on her heels.

Noctis searches Prompto’s face for validation even though his mind is already made up. To his relief, Prompto smiles encouragingly and without any hesitation.

“First, we gotta get Ignis back from Tenebrae—”

“My sources tell me he’s Ravus Nox Fleuret’s prisoner,” Veronica interrupts. “How are you planning on freeing him?” She scans them curiously, and Noctis can’t blame her for her skepticism. Up until recently, he didn’t have an answer to her question.

“We’ve got a plan,” Noctis says slowly.

“A _loose_ plan,” Prompto clarifies, then fixes Veronica with his winningest smile. “Actually, we were hoping you might help us with it.”

She folds her arms, somehow managing to be intimidating in her sleep clothes. “Oh really?” Her eyes harden a bit, her guard rising.

“Yeah, and in return, we’ll make sure you don’t ever have to worry about anything again. You have my word—” Noctis inhales, trying to channel Ignis’s poise and dignity, “—as the Prince of Lucis.”

Veronica studies him for a few seconds of tense silence, unblinking, and Noctis and Prompto hold their collective breath. After a long moment, she finally sighs, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“Fine. It’s not like I have anything to lose at this point.”

They exhale together, smiling in their relief. “You won’t regret it,” Noctis promises.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Veronica says as she rises, scooping up Prompto’s empty glass. “But, what the hell. It will make for a good story, if nothing else.” Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she nods decisively. “Hurry up and tell me your plan. I assume we’ve got a boat to catch.”

* * *

Gladio is standing in the living room when they open the front door, slivers of daylight creeping in through the blinds.

“Where the hell have you two been?” he demands, voice gruff with sleep and a tinge of anger.

“We can explain,” Prompto rushes to say, then stops, turning to Noctis.

Nobody moves, and Noctis grimaces. This isn’t going to be pretty and he has had zero hours of sleep to prepare for this encounter.

_Time to be a prince, I guess._

“You’re coming with us to Tenebrae,” he declares, puffing his chest out. Gladio’s arched eyebrow is a weapon all its own, and he takes a large, deliberate step in their direction. In Noctis’s periphery he sees Prompto shy away instinctively, but he stands his ground.

“This isn’t up for negotiation, Noct.”

“I have to agree,” a musical voice interjects from behind them. Veronica leans in the doorway, scanning their living room with a bored look.

“What the hell is _she_ doing here?” Gladio growls, and Prompto switches from cowering to standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Noctis, throwing his arms wide to block Gladio’s path. But Gladio isn’t heading for Veronica, he’s glaring at Noctis (though it doesn’t keep Prompto from watching him like he might pounce at any moment).

“We can explain on the way, but I really, _really_ need you to trust me.” Indecision is evident on his husband’s face, but if there is one thing Noctis knows, it’s that he will need Gladio’s strength to get Ignis back. Noctis ventures closer, placing a hand in the middle of Gladio’s chest.

“Gladio?”

Veronica sighs loudly, a nonverbal _hurry up_ , but Noctis takes his time curling his fingers into Gladio’s shirt, bumping his head into his chest.

“Gladio, _please_ ,” Noctis murmurs. His body and heart are heavy, and just this once, he doesn’t want to fight. “We need you.” Emotion pulls his throat closed, but he manages to add: “ _I_ need you.”

Gladio is stiff, and by most people’s standards constitutes an immovable object, but Noctis knows he need only wait.

So he does.

And gradually, Gladio’s shoulders droop, arms curling around Noctis like smoke, tentative at first before taking on a more decisive form. He crushes Noctis to him and they melt together, and it feels _so_ damn good to be held.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” Gladio grumbles affectionately.

“Yeah,” Noctis’s breath hitches, “I know.”

“Losing daylight here, boys,” Veronica calls, but this time everyone ignores her, even Prompto.

Gladio’s chin comes to rest on Noctis’s head, closing the cocoon he has created with his body. “Let’s go save Iggy.”

* * *

Tenebrae’s sky is a flat gray outside of Ignis’s window, a cosmic irony that he cannot help but notice. The universe seems to be holding its breath, a storm imminent, a feeling that he sympathizes with intimately.

“My lord?” a gentle voice calls from outside the door, and Ignis stands from where he was seated on his bed.

“Come in.”

A woman pokes her head in, bowing in combined greeting and apology. “Sir, His Highness requests that you dress for dinner. Lady Lunafreya will be in attendance, as will Prince Noctis and his retinue.”

Though he hides it well, relief and fear swell inside Ignis in equal measure. “Very well, thank you.”

With that, the woman shuffles in, using the key she holds in her hand to unfasten the manacles around Ignis’s feet.

Still kneeling, she adds, “If you happen to escape, my lord, His Highness has said he will release me from his service.” Her deep blue eyes are hidden beneath ashen eyelashes, embarrassment painting a band of red across her milky white face.

The insult stabs at Ignis, and he barely contains a snort of indignation. “You can rest assured, I have no intention of running,” he reassures her.

The servant bobs her head, inching away without looking at him. She flees the room without another word.

“I will be glad to be free of this place,” Ignis says to himself, rubbing at the spots where his restraints rested. The skin is red and angry from where the metal was beginning to chafe.

After the pain in his ankles fades, he wanders to his closet, selecting his best outfit out of those he initially packed, a velvet waist coat in navy blue with gold trim, and form-fitting white pants and high boots to go with it.

 _Best to give the others the impression that I haven’t been mistreated,_ he decides. There is no room for error in a delicate situation such as this, and as Noctis’s advisor, it will be up to him to minimize the damage.

 _Noctis_. He pauses, fingers running idly over the fabric of his coat. Though it has only been a few weeks, it somehow manages to feel like an eternity. His heart pangs as his mind wanders to the three who hold it.

Though most would say ‘no news is good news,’ Ignis feels a very specific dread from not knowing what his husbands are up to. Whether or not they’re safe— _happy_. It’s silly, but he hopes that they have been eating well enough without him there to cook their meals.

_Is Noctis sleeping alright?_

_Is Prompto drinking enough water?_

_Is Gladio getting along with everyone?_

Soon, he will have answers, or so he hopes.

Perhaps it’s selfish, but he knows full well that he would abandon every duty required of his station if only to be reunited with the others again. He prays that such recklessness will prove unnecessary, but it's best to prepare for any possibility.

With this in mind, he finds the butter knife and fork he stashed beneath his bed and tucks them decisively into the waist coat’s inner pocket--just in case.

* * *

“Stop messing with it,” Gladio laughs from where he is seated outside the bathroom. From the bench, he can see Noctis in the mirror where he has been combing fingers through his hair for the last fifteen minutes.

Noctis makes a face at Gladio, and his attention switches to the gold chain that drapes between his shoulders, tugging at its links.

“Cape on, or off?” Noctis wonders. “I can never get comfortable in this thing.”

Gladio stands, comfortable in his royal fatigues, and enters the bathroom to grab Noctis by the shoulders.

“Whatever is going to make you fidget less. The pinstripe suit already looks nice enough. Just lose the cape.”

“I can’t mess this up,” Noctis says, choosing to stare at his own reflection instead of up at Gladio. “I need to look strong.” He places his hands on the long marble countertop and leans forward.

“Strength isn’t something you put on.” This time, Gladio takes Noctis’s chin in his hand and tilts his head up, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You _are_ strong, Noct. And we’ve got your back.”

Noctis blows out a breath. Gladio knows it is a combination of frustration and worry and irritation, and he does his best to communicate his love and support in a single, tight-lipped smile.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little worried, but he also knows what Noctis is capable of.

“Hey, guys? It’s time,” Prompto says from the hall. Kingsglaive and advisors and other important people are all waiting for them to emerge, but Gladio will make them wait if necessary. His only concern is in front of him.

Gladio lowers his voice, unwilling to release Noctis just yet. “Are you ready?”

Pulling free of Gladio’s grasp, Noctis laughs shortly. “No, but do I really have a choice?”

“Noct.” Reluctantly, Noctis turns back. “I love you. It’s going to be okay.” Gladio hugs him fiercely, wishing he could inject Noctis with his confidence. “And afterwards, we’ll all go home and pile into bed and take a week-long vacation.”

“Pfft.” Noctis punches his shoulder, but at least he’s smiling now. “You mean it?”

“One hundred percent.” It might be a lie, but it’s true in the moment. Gladio seals the vow with a long kiss.

Noctis unclips the golden chain of his cape as Gladio steps back, shrugging it off and letting it fall onto the floor. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Pride and love stretch a grin across Gladio’s face. “After you, Your Highness.”

* * *

The dining hall is an elegant blend of whites and blues, the marbled table accented with bouquets of sylleblossoms and white roses, silver cutlery shimmering in the magically lit chandeliers overhead. High backed chairs are adorned with cushions that somehow match the shade of Ignis’s coat perfectly, though everything is filtered in a cold light thanks to the darkening sky through the hall’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

Prince Ravus stands at the head of the table, Lady Lunafreya on his right in a long white evening gown that accents her slender figure. The fabric has the illusion of being woven from stars, catching the light and shining it in every direction. Ignis is a few seats to her right, near enough to be close at hand, but far enough away that no one will mistake him for someone of importance to the Tenebraean crown. He recognizes several others: advisors, dignitaries, and soldiers, though his focus remains on the row of empty chairs across from him, which will soon seat the prince’s Lucian guests.

Ignis hears the doors on the far end of the hall being thrown open, the announcement spoken loud enough for everyone gathered to hear: “Now presenting, His Royal Highness, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum of Lucis—”

Whatever comes after is white noise, for Ignis is standing on his tip-toes to catch a glimpse of Noctis. He will know with a single glance what his temperament is, will be able to tell by the tilt of his head, the width of his eyes, the posture of his shoulders, and— _there_!

There he is, in his best-fitting suit, pinstripes the same metallic tone of the silverware, and _Astrals above_ , Ignis cannot believe he is tearing up, but Noctis looks surprisingly well, and the relief is so strong that he goes weak in the knees, unable to keep from watching his husband’s even approach, closer and closer— _so_ close!

Of course, directly behind him is Gladio, handsome and impressive as always, and then Prompto, usually uncomfortable in uniform, standing tall and sharp despite the anxiety he must be feeling. They keep their eyes trained on Noctis’s back, not yet looking for Ignis, but he _knows_ they can sense him there, watching.

 _They’re safe. They’re here_.

Ignis takes a deep, quiet inhale to settle his nerves, waiting for Ravus to indicate they may sit.

“Prince Noctis, thank you for joining us,” Ravus says in an overly-friendly tone. It smacks of condescension, and Ignis bites his tongue, temper burning his face a cherry red.

“Thank you for extending the invitation,” Noctis answers smoothly. With a nod, he takes his seat at the same time as Ravus, and there is a ripple of bodies as the remaining guests do the same.

Ignis is one of the last to sit. Noctis is diagonally across from Ignis, a few chairs closer to the head of the table, and Gladio and Prompto are beside him, just out of polite conversation range. It has never been so difficult to adhere to the rules of decorum in Ignis’s life. All he wants to do is run to them, but he knows to do so would be disastrous.

“How are you enjoying Tenebrae so far? If I recall, it has been some time since you visited,” he hears Ravus say conversationally.

Ignis tries not to look like he is on the edge of his seat, hanging on every word, forcing himself to scan the other faces at the table. He does a double take when he sees someone he wasn’t expecting--Veronica Platt--and she smiles in his direction. He is stunned enough to miss whatever Noctis says in response to Ravus’s question, but Ravus laughs nasally, so he imagines it wasn’t anything too terrible.

“Psst, Iggy!”

Ignis jumps to hear Prompto addressing him, and he does his best to casually turn in his direction, eyebrows raising a hair.

Prompto mouths the words, sending Ignis’s heart racing in the best way.

_Don’t worry. We’ve got this._

Inclining his head, Ignis accepts a glass of wine from the server who is coming around the table, raising it in Prompto’s direction before sipping.

He mouths back: _I know._


	10. Never Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and the others finally confront Ravus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After not writing for months, I woke up and wrote this entire chapter in a couple hours. Consider this a late Christmas present from me

Gladio’s hand on Noctis’s knee serves as a barometer for how he’s doing. If he says something too passive aggressive, it earns him a tight squeeze, while his princely, professional comments are rewarded with gentle pats of approval. By the time the dinner is nearing its end, his ratio of pats to squeezes is skewed in his favor, which he takes as a sign that he didn’t completely fuck things up.

Even so, it is difficult for Noctis to maintain his composure when he can see Ignis across the table, stone-faced and clearly worried on his behalf.

 _Stick to the plan,_ he reminds himself for the hundredth time. The servants are removing the dessert plates, and Ravus is whispering something to one of his advisors, who nods and hurries away.

Noctis holds his breath when Ravus finally stands, forcing himself to watch the Tenebraean prince instead of looking to Gladio or Ignis to gauge their reactions.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us this evening. We would be happy to continue entertaining you in the downstairs ballroom with further refreshments.” He turns to Noctis then, inclining his head with a thin smile. “Your Highness, would you and your retinue care to join me for a drink?”

 _Would I care to?_ Noctis thinks. _Absolutely not._

“Of course,” he says smoothly, getting to his feet to offer a short bow. The rest of the guests do the same before heading out the way they came in, and Noctis falls into stride behind Ravus and Luna, following them through a small archway and down a long hall in the opposite direction.

He doesn’t have to look to know that his husbands are close behind him, and he can hear Veronica’s heels clicking on the marble floor.

 _It’s showtime_.

The private sitting room they end up in is understated, with three low couches and little else, all in Tenebraean blue. A chandelier overhead shines a concentrated circle of light in the center of the floor, highlighting the intricate mosaic the couches are situated around, and it invokes an image of a boxing ring in Noctis’s mind. He finds it strangely fitting.

When Ravus and Luna come to a halt, so does everyone else, and Noctis experiences a sense of relief as Prompto and Gladio come to stand to his left and right; he doesn’t need to look to know Ignis has his back. He can feel him there, his presence as strong as the knots between his shoulder blades. Like a warrior in full armor who has been handed his sword and shield, at last, Noctis is ready for battle.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Ravus says, but Noctis doesn’t trust his smile and remains standing.

The others accompanying Noctis follow his lead, and once it becomes apparent that no one is going to ‘make themselves comfortable,’ Ravus’s smile slips into an irritated scowl.

“Very well, then.” He sits, and Noctis can’t help but feel he only does so to make a point, though he isn’t quite sure what that point is.

After looking around the room, Luna reluctantly joins her brother on the couch, her hands clasping in her lap as she bows her head.

Noctis can’t stand to see her this way. Even when they were children, Luna always possessed an air of confidence, staring down men and monarchs more than twice her age. To see her bend to her brother’s will now is beyond infuriating—it’s insulting.

 _Stick to the plan_.

Noctis tries to remember exactly what that plan is as servants weave in and out of their company, offering drinks that nobody takes. Once they retreat back into the shadows, Noctis stares Ravus down and speaks into the deafening silence.

“I am here to retrieve my husband.”

Noctis has been to enough council meetings to know that Ravus’s lack of immediate response is deliberate. He watches as Ravus readjusts on the couch, presenting a bored expression before waving a servant over to pluck a champagne flute off their tray. In the brilliant lighting of the sitting room, the pale drink shines like liquid gold.

Ravus takes a sip. “I am aware of what you’re here for.”

Gritting his teeth, Noctis counts to three in his head. “You are playing a dangerous game, Ravus.”

The smile on Ravus’s face remains firmly anchored, though his eyes narrow ever so slightly. He takes another sip of his champagne, then rests the arm that holds it casually over the back of the couch.

“Bold words for someone who planned to impregnate my sister without my consent.”

Even though Noctis was prepared for the subject to be broached, it still knocks the breath from him when he sees the way that Luna stiffens—catches a glimpse of the cold fire in her eyes. He knows she wants desperately to defend herself, her jaw working from the effort it takes to remain quiet, but Luna, like Ignis, is a master of diplomacy. She will wait for the perfect moment, and in doing so, will lend her power and support to Noctis by refusing to interrupt a conversation between two royals.

 _Don’t worry, Luna. I’ve got you,_ Noctis thinks.

He tries to communicate his resolve in a fleeting glance to her, and she gives an understated nod of acknowledgement.

Meanwhile, Ravus’s body screams nonchalance, one leg crossed at the knee, arms resting outward as he devotes more attention to his champagne than his current audience. Noctis knows it’s all an act meant to get under his skin. He just hates that it’s working.

“The Oracle doesn’t need your consent,” Noctis finally says, fighting to keep his tone neutral.

The accusation beneath the statement doesn’t phase Ravus. “Perhaps. However, my sister, the Princess of Tenebrae, _does_.”

It would be so much easier to settle this with blades. Or even fists. What Noctis wouldn’t give to punch that self-satisfied smirk off of Ravus’s pretty face. His fingers twitch with the desire to summon a sword from his armiger’s void. A moment later, Prompto subtly grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. It’s enough to stop him from doing something foolish.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that Luna was your property.” Noctis doesn’t hold back the acid in his words this time, and Ravus looks like he might piss himself with delight.

_Fuck._

Gladio elbows Noctis in the ribs as a warning, but Noctis knows full well that he overstepped. They watch as Ravus uncurls from the couch, champagne still held delicately in his hand as he stands.

“Your Highness, it appears you have much to learn before you become king.” Swirling the bubbling drink in his glass, Ravus takes a few lazy steps forward, closing the distance between him and Noctis. On his left, Noctis hears Gladio switch his footing into an offensive stance, ready to defend Noctis if necessary. “For example, I was fully within my right to detain one of your _retainers_ after learning of your plan to secure a potential future heir to the Tenebraen throne,” Ravus drawls, stopping within arm’s reach to sneer down his nose at Noctis. Noctis could hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he and Ravus locked eyes. “Now, kindly remove yourself and your retinue from my presence or I will have no choice but to consider this an act of war.” Lowering his tone, Ravus hisses, “Perhaps if he were _actually_ your husband, you would have some ground to stand on, but in this instance the law is in my favor.”

Someone inhales sharply—maybe Prompto, Noctis isn’t sure. Truth be told, he doesn’t care.

Noctis tries valiantly to pull his hand away, blue sparks flying from the effort he puts into summoning a weapon, but Prompto holds on to it so tight that something pops. Gladio growls like a provoked beast, putting himself between Noctis and Ravus.

The tension crescendos so rapidly in the moment that Noctis is deafened by it, no longer able to hear reason. He will beat Ravus bruised and bloody for undermining the relationship he holds dear, consequences be damned. Ignoring the voices that shout his name as he jerks forward, Noctis wrenches away from Prompto, ducks Gladio’s strong arm, and rears back, bare-knuckled, aiming for Ravus’s face.

But his punch never lands.

Something snaps past Noctis’s shoulder, and there’s the sound of an object shattering. A shrill cry filling the air as liquid and glass go flying, and Noctis instinctively turns his head away as he is pulled to the ground and rolls, a lithe, but firm body landing on top of him. Air is pushed from his lungs, and he gasps grotesquely, trying to recover as the room sways in his vision.

Shouts echo off the marble. There’s the sound of heavy footsteps and people arguing.

Noctis groans as the body on top of him slides away, allowing him to flop onto his back. He finds himself looking up at Ignis, who smiles at him wryly.

“Specs?” Noctis wheezes.

He turns his head to where Gladio and Prompto are holding Ravus face-down against one of the couches. The prince is kicking and screaming in the most undignified way he has ever seen. It’s a picture Noctis tries to commit to memory while Ignis remains crouched at his side, strategically placed between him and Ravus, though Noctis is surprised to find all the fight has already gone out of him.

“What happened?” he wonders as he pushes himself upright.

“I felt the need to _cut_ the conversation short,” Ignis explains. He casually holds up a thin, metal object between two fingers.

Noctis can’t help but laugh as he realizes what it is. “A... butterknife?”

“So that if my hand had slipped, it wouldn’t have been a fatal mistake.” Ignis pauses, then shrugs. “Hopefully.”

When Ignis helps him to his feet, Noctis wonders if he intended to aim for Ravus’s champagne glass, or if his hand truly ‘slipped,’ but decides it’s not the best time to ask. Ravus’s guards are having a standoff with Noctis’s now that their liege has finally been released from Gladio and Prompto’s clutches, and he and Ignis hurry to intervene before any more fighting breaks out.

“How dare you attack me in my own home! I will have you imprisoned again, indefinitely!” Ravus is fuming as they walk over, any semblance of composure washed away by the champagne that was violently dumped on him. Luna has a hand on her brother’s arm, looking apologetic and angry at the same time, which Noctis believes is a feat only she can pull off. “You will pay for this dearly,” Ravus prattles on. “I demand you leave your retainer here with me as penance.”

It is the moment Noctis has been waiting for, and he delivers his answer with a cocksure smile.

“No.”

“Pardon?” Ravus’s laugh is abrupt as he stills. “My ears must be deceiving me. For a moment I thought you said ‘no’.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Turning, Noctis finds where Veronica is leaning against the back wall, arms crossed while she watches and waits. He waves her forward, and all the eyes in the room trace her confident walk to Noctis’s side with a mixture of awe and confusion. “Your Highness, I’d like to introduce Veronica Platt, a well-known journalist in Insomnia.”

“Charmed, Your Highness,” Veronica responds easily, seemingly unbothered by Ravus’s foul mood.

Directing his disdain at Noctis once more, Ravus spits, “What is the meaning of this? I do not have time for games.”

“I think you’ll make time for this.” Noctis waves to Veronica again and she bows before pulling out a pad of paper and a pen.

“Your Highness, I was wondering if you could spare a few words for Prince Noctis considering the momentous news.” She presents a cursory smile that Noctis is all-too-familiar with from her interviews, and he is awarded the pleasure of seeing Ravus balk.

“What news?” Ravus looks around as if searching for the answer. “What is the meaning of this?” he repeats but one speaks, too mesmerized by the scene playing out before them.

“Why, the announcement that was put out this morning,” Veronica preens in that maddening way of hers. “The passing of Insomnia’s marriage addendum. You know, the one cementing Prince Noctis’s relationships with his husbands into law?” It’s an amazing thing to see Ravus’s face pale, his already fair skin turning ghost-white, but Veronica is far from done. Noctis has to restrain himself from grinning outright as she assaults Ravus with her words. “Of course, this would also mean that you kidnapped one of His Royal Highness’s partners, a crime with serious repercussions, but I might be persuaded to leave that part out of my article—for a price. Perhaps freeing the Oracle from your misogynistic hold on her.”

Ravus scoffs. “You cannot be serious.” He looks from face-to-face, leaving Noctis for last. “You think that _this_ will persuade me? Some half-baked threat? Say whatever you like, but I am not so easily manipulated. I will not let my sister sacrifice herself and her future children for your own devious devices.”

“Ravus.”

Luna commands the attention of everyone in the room with a single word, and Noctis suddenly remembers that yes, she’s his childhood friend, but also the Oracle, and she can definitely hold her own. He resolves to let her have her say. She’s been more than patient.

“Let it be, brother,” she says, grabbing both of Ravus’s hands when he opens his mouth to argue. Her next words are spoken gravely, befitting her station. “I have consulted with the gods on the matter. I am to bear children for Noctis.”

“W-what?” Ravus sputters, momentarily reduced to the equivalent of a lost child.

Noctis is equally surprised, but bites his tongue when Gladio grabs him lightly by the arm.

Luna sighs as if the weight of the world has been placed on her shoulders. For all Noctis knows, it has. “If you had merely listened before, all would have been explained and this confrontation could have been avoided.” She shakes her head and laughs, reminding Noctis of the many times Ignis had scolded him in the past for doing something foolish—with a mixture of indignation and love. “For now, I think it best that we all get some rest and resume this conversation in the morning. Prince Noctis, is that agreeable?”

How can you say no to the Oracle?

“Of course.”

Luna doesn’t even bother asking her brother’s permission. She sweeps out of the room and everyone jumps to do the same.

* * *

The room the four of them are given is tucked away, through zig-zagging corridors, down narrow stairways, and past a series of locked doors. It appears it was initially meant for servants in years past, or perhaps hated guests, because it is smaller than what Noctis is used to, with minimal decorating and questionable overhead lighting that flickers if you step too heavily in one direction. The ceilings are low with no windows, and the beds are short and narrow. Noctis knows better than to complain, but it makes more sense when Luna tells them it’s the room farthest from Ravus.

“I will send someone to retrieve you in the morning,” she promises, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek before leaving them alone. Noctis appreciates the breathing room.

The first thing they do is push the beds together. It’s something that doesn’t even have to be said, and it makes Noctis’s heart ache in his chest, but in a good way.

When the beds are arranged to their satisfaction they begin kicking off shoes and throwing coats, and soon they are draping over and into each other, one large puddle of flesh and bone and hearts beating close together.

“Ignis,” Noctis says lightly, sticking his nose beneath Ignis’s chin. Gladio has them both curled against his chest, Prompto hooked under his arm where he is pressed to Noctis’s backside.

“Yes, my love?”

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.” He barely manages to say it without choking up.

“Wow, you actually sounded like a prince there,” Gladio teases. Usually, it is Prompto who lightens the mood, but he is too busy clinging to Noctis’s shirt, trying not to cry from overwhelming relief.

“I apologize for worrying you all.”

Gladio interjects while Noctis organizes his emotions and places them in their respective boxes. “Is that a butterknife you had up your sleeve?”

“Ah, yes. Can never be too prepared.”

“Fuck, Specs, what were you going to do? Gauge Ravus’s eyes out? Butter his croissant for him?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“Which one?”

There’s a timid laugh from Prompto that turns into a sob. A beat of guilty silence follows it.

“Darling, don’t cry. I’m all right.” Ignis reaches over Noctis to pat Prompto’s head reassuringly.

“Damnit, I told myself I wasn’t going to cry. Totally not cool,” Prompto moans. Gladio’s grip around all of them tightens, and the pressure in Noctis’s chest only intensifies.

He thinks of all the things he might have lost if things went differently. Of all the ways he fucked things up, and still could.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis says because he doesn’t know how else to phrase it that doesn’t sound cliche.

He’s surprised to hear Ignis laugh.

“What?” he demands, voice cracking and giving him away. No one teases him for it.

“This isn’t at all how I pictured our reunion would go,” Ignis explains, turning slightly to press his forehead to Noctis’s. His long eyelashes brush over Noctis’s cheek, absorbing the tears streaking down them.

“Sorry,” Noctis mutters again.

“No, I am the one who should be apologizing.” Ignis kisses him, then twists away to kiss Gladio before finally tugging Prompto in closer to kiss him, too.

They lay there for a while after that, just basking in the closeness they have been missing and the love between the four of them, each person a vital piece to the puzzle.

It’s been a while since they’ve felt this whole.

“Did the law truly pass?” Ignis eventually asks. He whispers it like a prayer.

“Yeah. With a little help from our friend Veronica, I finally convinced the council and my father to push it through.” Noctis knows he will have to explain that later, but it can wait until tomorrow. Or at the very least, until they get home.

Ignis makes a thoughtful noise, pressing his lips into Noctis’s hair for another kiss. “Well done, my love.”

The praise from Ignis is genuine, and it breaks something inside Noctis that he didn’t realize he was struggling to hold together. Burying his head in Ignis’s chest, he inhales the smell of him—memorizes the feel of him; his breath, his heartbeat, his hands, his mouth.

“I’m never letting you go anywhere again,” Noctis says.

“Oh, darling,” Ignis breathes, “you could never tear me away.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to yell at me on Twitter (@HardNoctLife) or Tumblr (hard-noct-life).


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